Inferno
by Aini NuFire
Summary: Sequel to "Scorched" - The BMoL have come to America, intent on capturing the Alpha phoenix and the ignoble hunters that have settled in one of their bunkers. None of the Winchester family is safe. But with the help of some wayward sisters, they're going to take a stand—and draw the line for what it really means to be human or monster.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: We're in for a long one here: 12 chapters! And once again, huge thanks to 29Pieces for beta reading and for the awesome cover art!**

* * *

Chapter 1

Dean pulled the Impala into the bunker's garage and parked her next to the Continental. He'd never cared for the clunker, but even Cas had been neglecting it recently in his mission to track down Gabriel. Apparently the archangel wasn't answering any angel radio calls.

Dean, Sam, and Ryn had just come from a lead—albeit slim one—in North Cove, Washington where a tracking spell by Rowena had detected an echo of Gabriel's signature. But a look around the area hadn't revealed anything weird, and they'd had to head home empty handed.

"Yeah," Sam said into his phone as they climbed out of the car. "We just pulled into the garage."

There was a flutter of wing beats, and Cas and Amy appeared. Cas hung up his phone.

"What'd Heaven say?" Dean asked.

Cas shook his head in frustration. "That they still have no idea where he is. He's been missing for weeks and they're all just…adrift. Or falling back into old patterns."

That didn't sound good. Angels left to their own devices tended to get a little uppity.

"Maybe he just needed a vacation," Dean said. "He'll probably pop in with some mimosas and those little umbrellas."

The others didn't say anything, and Dean knew it was a lame theory. Maybe the old Gabriel would have disappeared like this, but not now. Not with a niece he adored and a brother he'd reconciled with. Unfortunately, they'd exhausted their resources in trying to find the wayward archangel. If Gabriel didn't want to be found, there was nothing they could do about it.

"Let's take a day and then try coming up with something else tomorrow," Dean said.

He got a few half-hearted shrugs in response, and the five of them made their way inside, footsteps heavy with discouragement tromping down the stairs. At the bottom, Cas suddenly stiffened.

"Wait—"

A blinding flash of light exploded throughout the war room. Dean reared back and threw his arm up to shield his eyes. When the nova faded, he jerked his head around in search of what the hell just happened—and noticed there was suddenly only three of them.

"Cas?" Ryn called in alarm.

Dean spun. "Amy!"

They were both gone. And several men armed with guns were pouring out of the corridors and surrounding them. Dean's hand instinctively went for the gun at his back, but the clicking off of safeties drew him up short. What the hell…these guys were in combat gear. All except for one who was standing up on the library landing next to the smoldering remains of an angel banishing sigil. He was wearing a suit, with brown hair smoothed back, and was wrapping a bandage around his palm.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean snapped.

"Allow me to introduce myself," he said with a posh accent. "Name's Arthur Ketch. We're with the British Men of Letters."

Dean's jaw slackened. "I'm sorry, the what?"

"Men of Letters?" Sam repeated dubiously.

"British," this Ketch guy corrected. He drew a pistol from his jacket and aimed it at Ryn.

Dean's eyes widened in horror when he realized it was the Colt. The bastard had gone through his room.

"Don't try anything, my dear," Ketch said. "I realize there's only one bullet in the chamber, but I assure you, I'm an excellent shot." He glanced at Dean and Sam. "So if you would all please surrender."

"What for?" Dean demanded as the goon squad moved forward and started handcuffing them. He struggled on principle, but they were sorely outnumbered and outgunned.

Ryn looked ready to light something on fire, amber flickers dancing in her irises, but with the Colt aimed directly at her, she kept herself still as she was restrained. Dean figured she could burn through the metal at some point later, though.

"Listen," Sam started, "if you're Men of Letters, so are we."

Ketch's lip curved upward in disdain. "I find that hard to believe. But you'll get your chance to explain back at headquarters." He nodded to one of the men, who pulled out a syringe of something gray and viscid.

The guy strode up to Ryn and plunged it into the side of her neck. She let out a startled gasp and then doubled over with a strangled cry.

"Hey!" Dean shouted, and tried to lunge, but with his hands already cuffed behind his back, there wasn't much he could do. He watched the gray creep out in veins down Ryn's neck before turning red hot. Another scream tore from her throat and her legs buckled, but the men held her up in their relentless grips and started hauling her toward the stairs.

Dean and Sam were manhandled up the steps as well. Once outside, Ketch radioed for vehicles to come in for pickup. Dean caught a glimpse of black SUVs rumbling down the drive, and then hoods were thrown over their heads. A few moments later, he was flung haphazardly into the back of a vehicle. Sam's unwieldy limbs landed next to him, a knee almost clipping his jaw. He couldn't tell if Ryn was tossed in with them, but there was the sound of a door slamming shut, and then they started moving.

Dean twisted and turned as gravel crunched under tires, but there was nothing he could do as they were carted away from their home.

* * *

Amy spiraled through the ether, knocked back and forth in its currents under the force of the unexpected shockwave that had slammed her into space in the first place. Her wings flapped frantically, trying to gain some purchase, but the gales buffeted her around and around. Something tore, but she didn't have the breath to scream. And then she was spat out like a comet breaking the troposphere. Wind rushed around her for a brief second before she collided with something solid, and there was a resounding crack as it gave beneath her weight and momentum. Finally, she landed in some bushes under a shower of splinters and dirt.

For a moment she lay there, dazed, stars dancing across her vision and tingles running up and down her skin. She blinked furiously, blurred smudges slowly taking the shapes of tree branches and a mottled sky. The scent of wet earth and grass filled her nostrils.

Groaning, Amy started to push herself upright onto her elbows. She was surrounded by trees—save for the one she'd apparently crashed through, the trunk snapped clean in half. She had no idea where she was, though, or what had happened. One minute she'd been going downstairs in the bunker, and the next she'd been ripped into the ether.

She craned her neck around; she was alone. Amy staggered to her feet and spread her wings, intending to fly home, but her left wing twinged and she doubled over with a gasp of pain. Oh, that wasn't good. She closed her eyes and reached out with her grace to inspect the damage. It wasn't broken, but she definitely wouldn't be flying on it. And she wouldn't be healing it, either, as her grace was tingling with pins and needles from whatever had assaulted her.

She turned in a slow circle, hoping someone would come trampling through the underbrush after her. But it was silent. Even the wildlife had been scared off by her crash landing.

Amy dug into her jacket pocket for her phone, and her heart almost stuttered at the cracked screen, but when she pressed the home button, it lit up. She nearly sagged.

She dialed her dad first, since he could fly to her location to get her. But he didn't answer his phone—it didn't even ring, but went straight to voicemail. Amy bit her lip and tried her mom next. The line rang and rang before also being redirected. She called Dean, and finally Sam. But no one was answering.

Her heart rate ratcheted up. What was going on? Where were they? Had they somehow been caught in what had blown her from the bunker? But that didn't make sense. That kind of thing was usually for something like an angel banishing sigil…

Her stomach lurched. Who would have used that? And they'd been in the bunker…

Amy cycled through calling everyone again, pleading for someone, anyone, to pick up. They didn't.

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she forced herself to take a deep breath and start moving. Her first few steps stumbled through the tangle of bushes as she waded free of them, and then she turned in a half circle again, having no idea which way to go. Her pulse was fluttering with panic, so she picked a direction and quickened her pace. It could have been five minutes or twenty, but she eventually stumbled out of the forest onto a highway. There was a road sign a ways down, and she squinted at it. Her eyes blew wide. She wasn't even in Kansas anymore.

She tested her wing again out of desperation, and bit back a whimper when the strained muscles quailed. Okay, think. If she had been blasted away by a banishing sigil…then her dad was, too. Which would have left the others under attack from…someone. She needed to get home, find out what was happening.

Clutching her phone in a white-knuckled grip, Amy tried another number. This one picked up at the second ring.

"Hey, kid. What's up?"

"Claire- Claire, I need help," Amy gushed.

"Whoa," she replied with instant seriousness. "What's going on? Start from the beginning."

Amy swallowed. "I think- I think I got hit with an angel banishing sigil. One minute I was home and the next I was crashing into some forest. I sprained my wing and I can't fly, and no one's answering their phones. Dad probably got banished, too. But that means there was an intruder at the bunker and _no one's_ answering their phones!"

"Okay, take a breath," Claire responded, sounding much more calm than Amy felt the situation warranted. "Where are you?"

"I don't _know_."

"Amy, think. Your phone's working. Can you pull up your GPS?"

She started at the suggestion, and immediately chastised herself. Why hadn't she thought of that?

"Uh, okay, hang on." She fumbled with the buttons to pull up the menu while keeping the call open, and found the Maps app. "Um, Brighton County." Looking up, Amy scanned the highway up and down. "I'm near road marker 88 on highway 20."

There was silence on the other end save for some button pushing. "Okay," Claire said a moment later. "I can be there in less than an hour. Sit tight. And don't get into any vehicles with strange guys!"

Amy bit her lip. She had no intention of doing that, though she wasn't afraid of human men, either…normally. But with her wing sprained and her family unreachable, she was feeling a touch of paranoia.

"Please hurry," she whispered before hanging up.

Casting one last glance up and down the road, Amy turned and slunk back toward the tree line where she'd hopefully be out of sight of any passing motorists, but she'd be able to see Claire's car coming when she finally got there.

Amy wrapped her arms around herself and slid down to rest her back against a tree trunk. She looked at the time on her phone. One hour. That's how long she'd have to wait, alone and cut off. Worry tightened her gut, and she tried calling her family again. She did that repeatedly until the lines stopped ringing altogether, as though they'd been turned off.

Or destroyed.

Her dad's phone never rang at all.

Amy drew her knees up and hugged them to her chest as the sun inched a fraction across the sky. Occasionally a truck and car passed on the highway, speeding by without even noticing her.

She finally caught sight of a red vehicle approaching, and lurched to her feet. Amy hung back long enough to make sure it was Claire before she staggered onto the open road.

The car pulled over and drew to a stop, and Claire leaped out. "Hey, you okay?"

Amy shook her head. No, no she was not okay. "I can't reach anyone."

Claire's lips thinned. "Me neither. Come on." She turned back, and Amy scrambled into the passenger seat. Claire put the car in drive, and pulled back onto the highway.

"So you didn't see what happened at all?" she pressed.

"No." Amy wrung her hands in her lap. "Dad might have. He stopped and tried to say something, but then there was this bright flash and I was being thrown through the ether."

Claire let out a low breath. "Okay, so when we get to the bunker, we go in expecting hostiles." She flicked a look at Amy. "You got a weapon on you?"

She nodded, and drew her angel blade from the ethereal plane. The silver of the blade and winged cross-guard glinted in the afternoon sun, and she steeled herself for going into a real fight, and not just training.

It was less than an hour that they arrived at the bunker—with the way Claire drove. There was no sign of anything amiss from the outside as they pulled up and parked in front of the entrance. They exchanged a look, and then exited the car and cautiously made their way to the door. Amy fitted her key in the lock and winced as the heavy slab of metal grated open with a screech. So much for stealth.

Claire had her Grigori sword in one hand and a pistol in the other, and swept inside. Amy quickly followed, pulse hammering.

The war room was empty. Claire moved forward earnestly but guardedly, clearing one of the side corridors. Amy ventured toward the library, and pulled up short. Sure enough, there was the remains of a smoldered angel banishing sigil on the wall.

Amy caught Claire's eye and cocked her head toward it. Claire nodded in acknowledgement, and they started into the library. Nothing looked out of place, no signs of a struggle. Amy wanted to call out, but bit her lip to keep from doing so.

A scuffing sound in the back hallway had her whirling toward it, angel blade raised. And then her brows shot upward as Castiel strode out. "Dad!"

"Amy!" He rushed forward and threw his arms around her. Some of the air whooshed out of her lungs, but she clung back just as fiercely. He abruptly pulled back. "Are you all right? I was so worried when you didn't come back to the bunker."

"I sprained my wing," she explained, looking him over as well. His tie was askew and coat rumpled. "But no one was answering their phone."

Castiel's jaw ticked. "Mine broke in my landing. I'm sorry. I would have come, but I didn't know where to look for you."

"It's okay," she hurried to assure him. "I called Claire and she came to pick me up."

He looked over to her and gave a grateful nod.

Claire nodded in return and looked around. "What happened? You and Amy got banished…where're Sam and Dean?"

Castiel's eyes hardened. "I don't know. When I made it back, everyone was gone." He shook his head in frustration. "I searched the entire bunker. It appears they were taken. But I have no idea by who, or how they would have gotten in here in the first place."

Amy twisted around to scan the invisible warding on the walls. "That doesn't make sense; these wards guard against everything."

Her dad gave her a grave look. "I got a glimpse right before we were banished…and I'm fairly certain they were human."

Her brow furrowed. "What?" Human? How was that possible?

"They could have been hired by some supernatural baddies," Claire put in. "You guys are pretty hard to get to."

Amy's chest constricted. "But why take them?"

Claire set her weapons on the table. "I don't know. But we can ask once we find them."

Amy couldn't help but glance at her father. Where did they even start? But his expression was pinched and his eyes pained.

"Hey," Claire said, giving them both a resolute look. "We _will_ get them back."

Amy lifted her chin and nodded. She wasn't alone. Somehow, someway, they were going to find the rest of her family.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Sam's leg banged against something metal as he was roughly manhandled into a chair. He'd given up protesting this treatment after he'd been blindfolded and trussed up in the back of a vehicle. The hood was still over his head, and he had no idea where he'd been taken, save that the drive had gone on for at least a couple of hours, and whatever facility they were now in had metal floors and a cool temperature.

The hood was finally yanked off his head, and Sam squinted in the abrupt, harsh light after being in the dark for so long. He also had to shake the hair out of his eyes in order to see clearly. The first thing he noticed was a wall of computer monitors and stations that looked like some kind of high tech operation. That was in the background, though; he was sitting at a large table set in the middle of what appeared to be a conference room.

Dean was plunked down in the chair next to him and the hood removed from him as well. He blinked several times as he got his bearings, his gaze meeting Sam's for a moment. They both had their hands cuffed behind them still, and none of their escorts made a move to remove those.

A man in a suit—not the one that had been in the bunker—strolled toward them. He had lighter brown hair than the other, and a scruffy face, but not the hardened mien. In fact, he actually _smiled_ at them.

"Hello," he greeted, also bearing a posh British accent as the others in this group. "Name's Mick Davies. And you are Sam and Dean Winchester, correct?"

"Where's Ryn?" Dean interrupted.

Sam craned his neck around and realized she wasn't with them.

Mick faltered for a second. "Ah, you must mean the phoenix. It's been secured. But since you brought it up, what are a couple of hunters doing with the Alpha phoenix anyway? You _are_ hunters, yes? It's your job to hunt monsters."

"Ryn isn't a monster," Sam said, leaning forward earnestly. One of the guards grabbed his shoulder and shoved him back in his seat. He shot the goon an incredulous glower before turning back to this Mick guy, who appeared to be in charge. "Just because she's not human doesn't make her a bad person."

"How'd you know she was the Alpha phoenix?" Dean asked coldly.

"Our observation of her powers made it quite clear."

Sam frowned. When would they have seen Ryn use her powers? Wait, so these guys had been _watching_ them? For how long? Long enough to gain entry to the bunker while they were all away and set up an ambush.

Sam shifted in his chair. "How'd you get inside the bunker?"

Mick took a seat on the edge of the table. "We have a key, of course."

"Excuse me?" Dean said.

"One key opens every Men of Letters bunker. And since we're on the subject, care to explain how you came to possess the one in Lebanon?"

Sam started to lean forward again, but caught himself. "We're legacies," he said, thrusting his chin to encompass Dean. "Our grandfather, Henry Winchester, was a Man of Letters."

Mick's brow furrowed dubiously. "Yet you're hunters."

"Yeah," Dean interjected, "that's a long story that involves a Knight of Hell and time travel."

Mick's brows rose. "Well, we have plenty of time to go over it."

Dean's expression was like granite. "Yeah? Well, how about you take off these cuffs, and then maybe we can have a civilized chat."

"Ah, yes." Mick gestured to the guards, who moved in and unlocked the handcuffs.

Sam rubbed his wrists. So they hadn't gotten off on the right foot, but maybe they could salvage this.

"And bring Ryn in here," Dean added.

"Ah, that's not possible," Mick replied. "The Alpha phoenix is quite the acquisition. Our scientists are very eager to learn from it, especially since they lost their other specimen."

Sam quirked a confused brow at him, and then all of a sudden it hit him. "Wait a second, you're the ones who imprisoned Elijah and experimented on him until he turned into a walking bomb!"

Dean flicked a surprised look at him, but then his eyes widened as realization dawned on him, too.

"That was an unforeseen complication," Mick said. "A mistake we intend not to make this time."

Sam gaped at him in horror, and if he wasn't keenly aware of the armed guards around them, he would have surged to his feet. "Mick, listen, we're all on the same side. Ryn is on our side. She helps us hunt monsters that do hurt people."

"All monsters are the same," the Brit replied. "They can't deny their nature." He shook his head. "But we're not here to talk about the phoenix. We're here to talk about you two. Starting with when and how you discovered the Lebanon chapter house, what you've done with the knowledge contained therein. Actually, we'll need to go over what knowledge the phoenix had access to at some point. And on that note, we need to know about any other monsters you've failed to take care of."

Sam just stared at him. Were they _on trial_? Who gave these assholes the right to come here and judge them?

Dean leaned forward, expression like steel. "You can go to hell."

Mick let out a long sigh. "Be reasonable about this, boys. I'd hate to have to resort to…other methods of questioning."

Sam's brows rose. So that was how it was gonna be. He shared a staunch look with Dean. Torture was nothing new for them. And Cas was still out there. He and Amy would be looking for them.

Sam turned back to Mick and echoed his brother, "Go to hell."

Mick worked his jaw for a moment before standing up with a sigh. He went over to the head of the table and pushed an intercom button. "Send in Lady Bevell."

* * *

Castiel extended his arms and reached through the space between the physical and incorporeal planes where an angel's wings were usually kept. The air bent and refracted slightly to his senses, revealing the coruscating bands of celestial wavelengths, though no one else would have been able to detect anything. He ran his hands gently over Amy's wing, his palms aglow with healing golden energy. Halfway down the wingspan, she flinched.

"Sorry," he said, lightening his touch as he carefully concentrated on that area. She was right; it was only sprained. Castiel poured a little more power into it before pulling back. He couldn't completely heal her, as her phoenix side inhibited his ability to do so, but at least he'd been able to soothe some of the pain.

Castiel stepped around to face her. "Better?"

Amy nodded. "Yeah, thanks."

Castiel turned to Claire, who was sitting at the study table with Sam's laptop. She'd decided to hack traffic camera footage, since human attackers wouldn't have vanished without a trace.

"Find anything?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied, clacking away at the keyboard. "I found a train of black SUVs cutting through town. Looks kinda suspicious, plus the timestamps are close to when you guys were banished, so I'm tracing the license plates now."

"How far do you think they've gone already?" Amy asked.

Castiel shook his head, at a loss. "I don't know. Let's hope not far."

"Okay, traced the plates back to a rental agency," Claire relayed as she continued to click through the computer screen. "And the person who rented them was…" Her brows rose sharply. "A British corporation with diplomatic registry."

Castiel strode over to take a look. "And?"

Claire leaned back in her chair with a huff. "And dead end. The records are sealed beyond what I'm capable of hacking." She craned her head up to look at him. "This doesn't make sense. British diplomats kidnapped Sam and Dean?"

"And Ryn." Castiel's mouth thinned as he stared at the locked screen, barring access to the information they needed.

Amy came over and folded her arms across her stomach. "So what do we do now?"

Claire closed the laptop down. "I'll talk to Jody. Since these are human bad guys, maybe we can go through human law enforcement channels to get the info we need." She stood up, but hesitated. "You two gonna be okay here?"

Castiel straightened. "I doubt they'll be returning. They apparently got what they came for. But we'll be on alert, just in case."

Claire nodded. "Okay. Call me if anything happens." She leaned around the edge of the table to give Amy a quick side hug, then gave Castiel a piercing look that promised trouble if he didn't watch his back. He almost smiled at her in response.

She packed up the laptop and made her way out of the bunker, the heavy door slamming shut behind her.

Castiel swept his gaze around the library. While he believed the intruders wouldn't be back, the safety and security of their home had been violated. Three of their family members were missing, and Castiel felt their absence like a gutted hole in his stomach. He needed to be doing something, needed to be taking action to find them, not sitting around waiting.

He turned to Amy and held out his hand. "Come on. There's someone else we can reach out to who might be able to help us."

She hurried forward and took his hand tightly. "Who?"

"Crowley."

With a flap of his wings, he flew them to Massachusetts and the abandoned asylum that the King of Hell used as his throne away from home. He landed outside, knowing they'd probably tripped some wards, but went ahead and knocked on the front door anyway.

It swung open, revealing two demons in suits, eyes black pits. Their shoulders were tense and poised for a fight, but Castiel wasn't worried; nearly every demon knew of the angel in the trench coat.

"We need to see Crowley," he said with a low growl, automatically angling himself slightly in front of Amala.

The demons exchanged uncertain looks before they took a measured step back.

"This way."

Castiel put his arm around Amy's shoulders and guided her in ahead of him. Even though he remembered the way to the throne room, he still followed their escort through the dingy corridors until they came to a chamber lit with wrought-iron candlesticks placed all around the room. The demon 'court' was assembled along the perimeter, and against the back wall was a throne where the King of Hell himself sat with a bored expression on his face as he looked over a stack of old parchments. Upon seeing them enter, however, Crowley straightened and shoved the papers into the hands of his attendant.

"Castiel." His eyes glinted. "And dear Amala. To what do I owe this surprise visit?"

"We need help," Castiel admitted.

Crowley arched a brow. "Kick another hornet's nest? The last one didn't go so well."

Castiel worked his jaw at the veiled reference to Ramiel. He'd nearly died on that hunt. But Crowley's quick, last minute thinking had saved him. The demon had even sacrificed a very powerful weapon in order to do so, which Castiel hadn't yet had the time to fully contemplate or appreciate.

"We came out of it all right. Thanks to you."

Crowley hummed and then got to his feet. "Very well, what is it this time?"

"Ryn, Sam, and Dean have been taken," Castiel explained. "There were humans waiting for us at the bunker when we got home. They used an angel banishing sigil on Amy and me, and by the time we got back, they were all gone."

Crowley glanced at Amala. "So, an angel banishing sigil works on you. Interesting."

She quirked an affronted look at him. "Why is that interesting?"

He shrugged. "You're a new species, my dear. It would be wise to learn your own limitations so you can work around them." He turned back to Castiel. "If these were humans, I don't know what you expect me to be able to do."

"We hit a dead end when their trail lead to a British company with diplomatic registry," Castiel went on, and then gestured vaguely. "I thought…you do seem to have operatives everywhere. Can you…find something?" He realized that Crowley's means of gathering intel would be to have his demons possess someone, which Castiel wasn't fond of. But as long as they didn't _stay_ in the innocent humans, he could swallow it.

Crowley had fallen silent, a ruminative crease in his forehead. "British diplomatic registry," he repeated thoughtfully. "Armed with banishing sigils and access to your bunker…if I had to hazard a guess, I'd say that sounds like British Men of Letters."

Castiel straightened. "What?"

Crowley nodded slowly. "And if I'm right, that's very bad news for all of us."

"Wait," Amy interjected. "Are you saying there's more Men of Letters out there? I thought they were wiped out."

"That was just Lebanon's chapter house," Crowley replied. "Which happened to contain most of the North American members. Still, the British faction is another beast altogether. Thanks to them, all of Britain is free of monsters and demons. If one tries to set foot there, they're neutralized in less than an hour."

Castiel's brows rose in disbelief. "Why have we never heard of them?"

Crowley shrugged. "Because until recently, they stayed on their little island. I can only imagine what brought them to this side of the pond, though it appears obvious it was something you lot did."

"We haven't done anything," Amy protested.

"Yes, well, even if that's true, I wouldn't call these people very reasonable."

"What would they want with the Winchesters and Ryn?" Castiel pressed.

"Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum? Who can say. But Mother phoenix…" Crowley trailed off and flicked a regretful look at Amy.

Castiel's chest constricted at the ominous note. "Crowley, we need to find them."

"Would these British Men of Letters take them back to England?" Amy asked, voice tremulous even as she tried to keep up a brave face.

Crowley cocked his head noncommittally. "They might, though I doubt right away. They came all the way out here for a reason."

"Can you help us find them?" Castiel asked urgently.

Crowley nodded toward the demons in the back, who began to disperse. "No promises," he said.

Castiel's jaw tightened in understanding, and he inclined his head in gratitude. He'd long gotten past being irked at having to work with the King of Hell, but his helplessness in this situation still ate at him. Short of flying back and forth across every inch of the country—which would take months—he didn't know what else do to, but with Amy's wing still mending, he wouldn't be leaving her alone for a single moment.

Crowley stepped close to Castiel and lowered his voice. "They probably won't kill Ryn. Phoenixes are rare, and the British Men of Letters like to…study."

Castiel stiffened, pieces slowly clicking into place. Elijah had accused them of being allied with those who'd imprisoned and experimented on him…because they had access to the Men of Letters bunker. He'd said the Men of Letters had tortured him. They'd just assumed he was referring to a rogue group who had also been wiped out by Abaddon. But if it was, in fact, the British counterparts, and if that was what was in store for Ryn…

Castiel swallowed hard. "Work fast."

Crowley made a noise in his throat and moved away.

Castiel turned to Amy, who was watching them with wide, fearful eyes. He quickly went over to pull her into a hug.

"What do we do now?" she asked softly, voice breaking.

Castiel closed his eyes and tucked her head under his chin.

He didn't know.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Dean gritted his teeth as his wrists were zip tied to the armrests of the chair he was in. So much for the friendly gesture of removing the handcuffs. To his left, Sam was similarly restrained. Looked like there would be no more attempts at playing nice, not that Dean had any intention of cooperating with these sons-of-bitches until they released Ryn. Actually, even then, he wasn't feeling particularly amiable, given their treatment thus far.

A woman with blonde hair tucked in a tight bun and wearing a pantsuit walked in, her heels clacking starkly on the hard floor.

Dean arched an unimpressed brow at her. "This is your starting play? British Spice?"

The woman crossed her arms. "Lady Toni Bevell," she introduced herself, sounding just as haughty as her bearing indicated.

"Yeah, charmed." Dean snorted. What, was she going to torture them with tea and crumpets?

As if in answer to his unspoken question, Lady Bevell made a gesture, and a moment later an assistant wheeled in a cart lined with surgical implements, syringes, and vials. Dean's stomach instinctively cringed, and he tested his bonds out of habit. They weren't gonna give, though.

"It's probably only fair to tell you that I was tortured in Hell for thirty years. So you folks are kinda out of your league."

Toni lifted a delicate brow. "Fascinating. Yet here you are. How did you get out?"

Dean clamped his mouth shut.

She pursed her lips in a pouting moue. "There's no reason to be like that. If you answer our questions, you can leave."

Dean slid a sidelong, skeptical look at Sam. "And Ryn?" he asked.

Toni looked to Mick.

"He means the Alpha phoenix," Davies supplied.

"I see," she said. "Well, we can't very well let a dangerous monster loose."

"She's not dangerous," Sam said sharply.

Dean canted his head to himself. Well, technically, she was, especially when pissed off. But she was on their side.

Toni moved to the tray of accoutrements and picked up a syringe. "Dean Winchester, how did you get out of Hell?"

He steeled his jaw. "Bite me."

She let out a weary sounding sigh and picked up a vial of blue liquid. Inserting the needle into the bottle, she pulled back the plunger to fill the reservoir.

"You're expecting torture like you experienced in Hell," Toni said conversationally. "But that gets…messy." She removed the needle and set the vial down before turning toward them. "This compound is an interesting combination of pharmaceuticals, resulting in a very effective substance that increases the pain receptors in the nerves so that even the smallest pin prick will feel like you're being stabbed."

Dean tensed as she moved closer. He could only hope she planned to use it on him and not Sam.

Sure enough, she veered toward Dean and leaned down to tap the vein in his arm. He fought not to cringe in anticipation.

Sam's muscles were straining as he squirmed in his restraints. "You don't have to do this," he pleaded.

Toni raised a questioning brow at Dean, who merely met her gaze coldly. Yes, they did. Because he wasn't giving them shit.

Toni angled the hypodermic needle down toward Dean's skin. This time he did flinch as she slid the needle into the crook of his elbow. She depressed the plunger, and he winced as burning liquid flushed into his vein.

Toni pulled the needle out and patted his cheek, then glanced at Sam. "Feel free to contribute anything during the interview."

Sam glared daggers at her between shooting worried looks to the side. For Dean's part, he was too distracted by his head starting to get fuzzy. His extremities began tingling, and he clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to dispel the sensation.

Toni placed the syringe back on the cart and picked up a notebook and pen. She then turned and took a seat at the table, crossing her legs and giving Dean a saccharine smile. She nodded to someone behind, him, however, and a moment later one of the guards moved into Dean's peripheral vision. In his hand was a sewing needle.

Dean almost laughed, but then the guard poked his forearm, not even deep enough to draw blood, but it felt like a hot poker, and Dean threw his head back with a scream. He thought he heard Sam shouting his name, but it was muffled until the waves of agony gradually receded, and he was left panting.

His gaze flitted instinctively to his arm, but there was no sign of the mark that'd felt like he'd been skewered.

Toni uncapped her pen. "Now, shall we begin? How did you get out of Hell?"

Dean's cheeks puffed as he fought to catch his breath. He meant to lob a curse at her, but the words that stuttered out of his mouth were, "An angel."

He blinked furiously. What the hell?

"Dean?" Sam sputtered.

Toni scribbled something on her notepad. "An angel raised you from Hell?"

His mouth opened of its own accord, and he fought to clench his jaw, he did. "Y-yes," he gritted out.

Toni pursed her mouth thoughtfully. "Would that happen to be the same angel our intel says seems to reside with you in the bunker?"

"Yes." Dean sucked in a ragged gasp and shot his brother a horrified look. What was he doing? Sam looked just as freaked and confused.

"Oh, did I mention the drugs also work as a sort of truth serum?" Toni said cheerfully.

Dean's eyes widened. _What?_

"What is this angel's name?"

Dean mashed his lips together. No, no. He would not give her that.

Toni smirked in apparent amusement, and flicked her eyes over his shoulder. The guard moved in, jabbing the sewing needle into the flesh of his hand, and Dean couldn't hold back the guttural scream as it felt like he'd been impaled.

"Stop it!" Sam yelled.

"What is the angel's name?"

"Ca-Castiel," Dean panted, and squeezed his eyes shut in abject mortification, hot tears welling up.

"Your truth serum works, you don't have to torture him!" Sam was screaming.

"Resistance is to be expected," Toni replied uncaringly. "And as your brother pointed out, he withstood quite a lot in Hell. Pain whittles that resistance away. And we have so very much to go through. So…" She turned back to Dean with a sickening smile. "Why did this angel raise you from the Pit?"

* * *

Amy scooped a serving of kibble into Kit's food bowl and set it on the kitchen floor. The russet feline bounded over, but paused as she reached the dish and looked up at Amy, one ear quirked to the side in question. Usually Dean was in the kitchen making breakfast at this time. He didn't often throw Kit scraps, unless he was cooking ham, but his absence was palpable.

Not that there weren't days he wasn't here because he was off on a case, and only Amy or one other family member was left hanging around.

It was different this time, though. Because they weren't on a case. They were missing. And the bunker had never felt so quiet. So empty. Even Kit seemed to sense it. The cat's head dropped, subdued, and she slowly hunkered down to munch on her food.

Amy left the kitchen and made her way through the corridor, stopping at the entrance to the library. Her dad was sitting at one of the tables, head in his hands. Her cell was sitting on the table next to him, waiting for someone to call with an update, since his phone had been broken. He'd been there all night and had barely moved, partly a moored sentinel guarding against further invasion, partly a mired figure trapped by inaction and no leads. Amy had never seen him look so lost, so shut down, and she didn't know what to do to help. As each long hour had ticked by into days with no word from their friends, Amy felt a piece of herself set adrift as well. Their family had been torn apart, and she didn't know why.

She wished Gabriel wasn't missing. He'd know what to do, or at the very least would buck them up with bolstering words and lively pep talks. If he were here, they wouldn't be drowning in silence and slowly succumbing to despair.

Amy watched her dad for another moment before turning around and heading back to the kitchen. She turned on the coffee maker and got down two mugs: Castiel's "World's Best Dad" cup and one of the bunker's original china pieces for herself. Her gaze briefly flitted over the others in the cupboard—Dean's mechanic themed mug with its ring of brown stains from being used so much. Amy should get him another one. And then there were the ones they'd picked up in gift shops from various vacations that her mom and Sam rotated using. Amy's throat grew tight.

Kit butted up against her shin and weaved between her legs, distracting her. She closed the cupboard door and bent down to scratch the cat behind her ear.

The coffee machine finished percolating, and she straightened again to pour some fresh brew into the two cups. Then with those in hand, she made her way back out to the library, Kit trotting close behind.

Castiel didn't look up until she'd set the mug right next to him, and then he gave her a wan half smile as he wrapped his hands around it.

Amy slid into the seat perpendicular to him and sipped at her coffee.

A few moments later, her phone rang with Rowena's caller ID. Castiel reached for it and quickly answered.

"Rowena? Did you find them?"

Amy pressed her lips together as she listened to the witch's lilting voice on the other end of the line.

"I'm afraid not. Wherever they've been taken, it's heavily warded, even against me."

Castiel slumped forward and reached up one hand to rub his forehead. "Alright. Thank you for trying."

There was a pause. "You can call if you need anything else, and if I can do it long distance, I will. But if those British Men of Letters are here, then I'm getting out of the country. Tonight."

Castiel's mouth turned down. "Rowena, I'm sure if we work together—"

"Your optimism is endearing, tweetie pie," she cut him off. "But I've experienced their brand of torture before, and I'm not sticking around to risk another. I wish you luck."

The line clicked as she hung up.

Amy's throat tightened as she imagined her family being tortured while waiting for a rescue she couldn't provide. She roved her gaze over the greatest collection of lore there was. On this continent, at least. But it was useless to them in this situation. All of her studies and training, and none of it had prepared her for something like this. No monsters to hunt. No spells to counter. Just a…faceless, mundane enemy that seemed able to thwart their every effort more than any supernatural being ever could.

Silence descended like a shroud again, stealing their hope along with their voices.

Until Castiel finally spoke up again. "I've been thinking." He didn't lift his gaze from his coffee. "Maybe you should go to Heaven for a bit. Stay with Joshua." His voice dropped, almost as though talking to himself. "He should be able to keep you shielded from the others."

Amy stiffened. "Dad, don't send me away."

"I don't know what we're facing here," he said, lifting a pained filled gaze to hers. "And I don't want you to get hurt."

"I can help."

"I know, but—"

"And who will look after you?" she pressed. "You're always telling me that this family looks after each other, no matter what we're facing. That we have each other's backs and that's how we win. So let me do that."

Castiel's eyes wavered, and then his shoulders sagged in apparent defeat. "You're right." He reached over and squeezed her hand. "We are in this together."

She swallowed hard. As terrified as she was, she knew she needed to be a rock for her dad.

She just wished she could think of something else to do to help the rest of her family too.

* * *

"Uncle Sam?"

Sam blinked blearily, his vision dark and his eyes sore. He felt heavy, too, and lifting his head took too much effort.

"Uncle Sam?"

He managed to tip his head back, and squinted at the smudged shape standing several feet away. "Mmph. Amy?" He blinked a few more times, and gradually the darkness receded a bit, revealing his niece standing across the table from him, eyes pinched with worry.

"Where should I go?" she asked.

Sam frowned. "What?" He glanced down at himself. He was in a chair, sitting at a table, but the floor was murky, as was the air around him. Why was it so dark?

"The bunker's not safe," Amy said. "Where should I go?" Her voice took on a distorted quality, and the air seemed to wobble.

Sam tried to give himself a sharp shake. What was going on? Where were they? This couldn't be the bunker… He should get up, but his legs felt like gelatin and he couldn't get them to move.

"Uncle Sam," she pressed urgently.

"I- I don't know," he stammered, squinting against the fuzziness in his head. Was this a dream communication? "Where's Cas?"

She didn't answer. Her visage warped as she stepped forward and pushed a memo pad across the table toward him. "Just write down the address where I would go to wait for you and Uncle Dean."

Sam quirked a confused brow at her. Address? They didn't have an address. They'd never expected their secure home to be invaded like it had. So…where would Amy and Cas go? They'd come back to look for them, obviously. But when they didn't find anything?

"Please, Uncle Sam, I'm scared."

Her distraught voice tugged at his heart, but his gut was screaming at him. Something wasn't right here. Where was he? What was going on?

Amy's mirage bled away into that of a blond woman with austere features. Awareness slammed back into Sam so hard he jolted backward against the chair he was in. Harsh plastic edges bit into his wrists at the movement, and he whipped his gaze down to find that he was suddenly zip tied to the chair.

No, he'd already been like this… There were red welts around his wrists from prolonged restraint.

He jerked his gaze back up to Toni Bevell, his breaths coming in short, ragged pants. Chills rippled through his muscles, even as sweat streamed from his pores. His stomach roiled.

Sam shot a harried glance to the side and saw his brother also still strapped to a chair, chin slumped forward and blood dripping from his nose. The British Men of Letters had tortured him with drugs and needles, prying loose information with the help of a truth serum. Even so, it had been like pulling molars, and Dean had screamed just as much as he'd divulged. Which had been…oh god, a lot.

And then when his body had finally undergone too much and given out, they'd given Sam something… He couldn't remember what. Not the same drug, though, as he didn't recall being tortured with physical pain. He remembered…Dean asking about the Trials to close the Gates of Hell, and…and then Dean had the Mark again, and was pleading for Sam to tell him what the cure was. But Dean had already been cured years ago. Ryn had saved him.

But Charlie had kept looking for the Book of the Damned, and that had unleashed the Darkness that had almost devoured the world, and then Heaven had threatened to obliterate the state of Kansas because Ryn had gotten pregnant and…

Sam's heart seized. _Amy_.

Toni Bevell stood from her chair with a sigh. She pressed the intercom, and Mick's voice responded with a question.

"I think we've learned all we can from them."

Toni capped her pen and set it on the table before turning back to Sam. "The British Men of Letters are prepared to pass sentence."

He gaped at her in stupefaction. "What?"

Toni folded her hands behind her back. "For endangering the world countless times, harboring dangerous monsters, and failing to protect the people of America, we hereby sentence you to lifetime imprisonment. A transport will be prepared to take you back to London where you will serve out the entirety of your sentence."

Sam's head was still too muzzy to process what was happening. Sentence? Lifetime imprisonment?

The guards came forward and cut the zip ties around his wrists. Any thought of fighting back was doused, as his hands were too numb to move his fingers. He was hauled to his feet and his head swam so much he couldn't tell up from down. He barely kept his stomach contents in check as he and an unconscious Dean were dragged out of the conference room.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Ryn took in a shuddering breath, her lungs burning with each painful inhalation. Her muscles trembled and her joints ached, but she wasn't able to move even an inch in an attempt to find relief in another position. A metal collar around her neck was bolted to the floor, not allowing her to even lift her head. Manacles on her wrists stretched her arms straight out together so she was laying on her side, also bolted to the floor. Same with her ankles, pulled taut and straight down so that both her chest and back were completely vulnerable. There was iron in the chains as well, which burned her skin. Her captors had stripped her down to just jeans and a camisole, leaving her flesh exposed to the shackles.

And if that hadn't been bad enough, her captors kept injecting liquid iron and mercury into her veins. The metal wouldn't kill her, but it burned and ignited her blood into molten lava that festered as it tried to purify itself, leaving her too weak and in pain to try fighting her way to freedom.

She had no idea where Sam and Dean were. She hadn't seen them since they'd been dragged out of the bunker, though she'd heard their grunts of protest when they'd been hauled out of the transport vehicles. After that, she had been brought to this cell, a small room with a sliding glass door that looked out into an empty corridor. There were no guards stationed outside, but she was practically on display for anyone who happened to walk by.

Ryn had tried to take count of how many people were involved in this organization, but every time someone came to give her a fresh dose, the agony whited out her brain, and all the personnel in guard uniforms or lab coats started to blur together.

The door slid open with a puff of air, and a man in a casual suit walked in. Ryn hadn't seen him before, but he didn't look like an underling. For a tense minute, she simply stared up at him, and he gazed back, equally silent.

Ryn took a second to gather her breath so her voice would come out strong, though her forced position belied any actual strength. "Where are Sam and Dean?"

He regarded her almost curiously for another moment, and she had never felt more like a chained animal than she did lying at his feet.

He finally slipped his hands into his pockets. "Sam and Dean Winchester have been pronounced guilty for their crimes and sentenced to imprisonment."

Ryn gaped at him in astonishment. "What crimes?"

"Starting the Apocalypse, for one thing. Which is sadly only the first in a long line of reckless decisions that have endangered the world. They're obviously a menace and can't be allowed to continue."

Ryn sputtered at his audacity. "They _saved_ the world several times over."

"Cleaning up messes they created isn't admirable," he countered. "And how many people have lost their lives because of them?"

"Ask how many they saved."

The man shook his head in apparent exasperation. "It doesn't matter. The decision's been made." He paused, brow furrowing slightly. "I must admit I'm surprised you're pleading their case instead of your own."

Ryn narrowed her eyes. "Would it make a difference?"

"No."

"Didn't think so."

He shifted as if to leave, but hesitated. "The Winchesters claim you're a 'good' monster. I'm curious, why the charade? Was it to gain access to the Men of Letters archive?"

Ryn's expression hardened. "What do you want?" she snapped. She wasn't going to defend herself to this mortal, not when she knew it wouldn't change anything. She knew his kind.

He didn't respond, just kept gazing down at her as though she were a mildly interesting insect. She loathed being in this position, being demeaned as something less than a sentient being. She was older than any of these mere humans combined, and yet they deemed her as nothing more than a _thing_ to be enslaved to their whims.

She figured now that these were probably the ones who had imprisoned Elijah for years, tortured and experimented on him. She imagined the same treatment was in store for her.

Just when the man looked like he was finally going to say something, the door behind him opened, and the one who had banished Castiel and Amy from the bunker strode inside.

"Admiring the new pet, Davies?" the man said nonchalantly.

The first backed up a step. "I thought she might tell us her intent behind her infiltration of the Lebanon bunker."

The other man made a thoughtful hum in his throat as he pulled out a syringe with a metallic gray substance inside the vial. Ryn squeezed her eyes shut as she braced herself for more pain.

There was a displacement of air as he knelt down right in front of her, but there was no prick in her arm. He just…hovered. Ryn opened her eyes to find the dark-haired man leering down at her with possessive eagerness.

"I'm looking forward to what we can learn about the Alpha phoenix," he said, cocking his head as his eyes roved lasciviously up and down her body. "But first, I've got a mission retrieving the hybrid."

Ryn frowned. Hybrid?

Her eyes blew wide with panic, and she jerked against the shackles. "You stay the hell away from my daughter!"

The man spared her a smirk, and then jabbed the syringe into her forearm. Cold, followed by scorching fire coursed into her veins, and Ryn buried her face into the concrete floor in an effort to stifle a scream.

The man got to his feet. "Make sure a cell is ready," he said, voice sounding far away. "And one for the angel. I think he'd make a useful asset as well."

Hot tears streamed down Ryn's cheeks as she succumbed to the fiery abyss.

* * *

Dean moaned as awareness returned with the force of a drill splitting his skull. He wanted to beg them to stop, to please stop, yet before those traitorous words could pass his lips, he vaguely realized he wasn't sitting upright in a chair anymore. In fact, he was laying on a cold, hard surface.

Prying his eyelids open resulted in more stabbing pain through his head, and he quickly squeezed them shut and rolled onto his side.

"Dean?"

He let out an undignified noise as he tried to open his eyes again. "Sam?" he said hoarsely, throat raw.

"Over here."

He didn't sound very close, and Dean's instincts spurred him enough to push himself upright and look around. He had to duck his gaze away from the harsh lighting in the ceiling, but managed to get a glimpse of his surroundings. He was in a small, completely bare, white room. So, a cell, basically.

Shifting, he found that the door was a solid glass panel, and across the aisle was Sam in a similar room. Dean assumed they were locked.

Sam was slumped against the corner near the door, exhaustion prominent in his slouched posture. "You okay?" he asked weakly.

Dean groaned as he pulled one knee up to rest his arm on, bracing it as he pressed a palm to his aching head. "God, I feel like I got run over by a semi. Ten friggin' times."

He glanced down at himself, surprised to find his clothes intact and not a trace of blood. He remembered being skewered and ripped apart, just as though he was back on Alastair's rack… But he hadn't been carved to ribbons; it'd only felt like it because of the drugs, heightening his pain receptors or whatever. Son-of-a-bitch.

Dean lifted his head and looked at Sam, chest compressing at his listless bearing. Had those bastards touched his little brother? "You okay?"

The lines around Sam's mouth tightened, and he looked away. "I'm not hurt."

Yeah, that didn't answer his question.

"What'd they do to you?" Dean growled.

Sam's jaw ticked. "I- I don't know. It wasn't the same thing they gave you. I- there were hallucinations. I think." He rubbed his face and ducked his gaze toward the floor.

Dean's fury lit anew. He was going to _kill_ these people for laying a hand on his brother. But first he needed to figure out how to get out of here.

He scanned the glass door for some kind of opening mechanism, but couldn't spot any. Then again, he was still having trouble focusing.

"Dean," Sam spoke up in a subdued voice. "They know about Amy."

He froze, chest hitching. _No_. No, no, no, he didn't… Dean jammed his fists against his eyes again. _Dammit_. How could he?

"Dean, no!" Sam's harried voice broke through the maelstrom of self-recrimination. "It wasn't you. It… I think it was me."

Dean lowered his hands and blinked to clear his vision as he looked toward his brother's devastated expression. Shit.

He took a deep breath and collected himself. "Okay," he breathed. "It's okay. It wasn't your fault."

"It's not okay," Sam snapped. "They're going to hunt her down, and…" His voice choked off and he looked away. "They're going to hunt her down," he repeated brokenly.

Dean shifted with a wince, scooting to the edge of the glass door. "Sammy, listen to me. That shit they gave us…it was worse than anything we've ever faced before. Worse because it stripped us of our minds. It's not your fault."

Sam squeezed his eyes closed. "I'm still the one who has to live with it."

Dean clenched his jaw. Only because he had passed out before they'd gotten to that point, but he'd spilled his guts about plenty of other stuff that left his insides twisted all around and wanting to throw up.

"I, uh, don't remember much," he said roughly. "Is this halftime, or did they…" Dean swallowed hard. "Get everything they wanted?"

He had no idea how much time had passed, and while he didn't want to believe that they'd already told the British Men of Letters everything they wanted to know, another part of him didn't want to go back to that chair with those drugs. He was still hurting, and every movement stung, but at least it didn't feel like he was being stabbed over and over.

Sam let out a derisive snort. "They're done. We've been sentenced to lifetime imprisonment and will be taken back to London."

Dean blinked at him dubiously. "Seriously? What the hell for?"

"Endangering the world too many times."

Dean scowled. Who gave them the right to be judge, jury, and executioner?

He shifted again. "Alright. That might be our best chance to escape."

Sam was quiet for a moment. "I don't think we can wait that long. We need to get out of here before they go after Amy and Cas." His throat bobbed. "Before they do to Ryn what they did to Elijah."

Dean's stomach cramped at that. He'd been too pissed at that phoenix for almost getting Cas killed, and then threatening Amy, that Dean hadn't had a single ounce of pity for how insane the guy had gone after presumably being tortured for years until his own phoenix powers turned against him.

Seeing the people responsible, though, seeing just how cruel and brutal they really were…Dean was beginning to realize that Elijah, no matter how deranged, wasn't the real monster. These British Men of Letters, though human, were the monsters. They'd turned Elijah into a ticking time bomb.

Sam was right; they needed to get out of here now.

Dean tried to pull himself to his feet, but sank back down when his legs seized up. His vision swam and he had to close his eyes to keep from puking. Okay, maybe he needed another minute.

Crap, how the hell were he and Sam supposed to make an escape, let alone find Ryn? At least these British bastards hadn't known too much about Cas and Amy when they'd first attacked, and had simply written them off as angels to be banished.

That had changed, though. And with Cas and Amy undoubtedly searching for them, how long would it be before they were caught too?

* * *

Amy folded the last of Sam's shirts and placed them in the dresser drawer. She'd done the laundry to keep busy, to be doing _something_. It was a feeble attempt at normalcy, as if her mom and uncles would walk through the door cheery, maybe a little battered, and declare they'd bested those British Men of Letters. And they'd likely want a clean change of clothes when they did.

Amy slammed the drawer shut a little hard, berating herself for the childish fantasy. But she had to cling to something, and if that was stupid household chores, then she would do so.

Her phone chimed, and she pulled it out of her back pocket, expecting Claire to be checking up on them. Her heart stuttered when she saw a text message from Dean instead. She hastily tapped the notification.

 _"Managed to escape, but it's not safe to talk. Phone could be tracked. Meet us at 15315 Horace Lane, Shaw County."_

Amy spun sharply and bolted from Sam's room. "Dad!"

He came running down the hallway to meet her. "What is it? What's wrong?"

She held her phone up. "Uncle Dean sent me a text."

Castiel's brow furrowed as he read the message.

"How far is that?" Amy asked. "Should we take Uncle Dean the Impala or fly?" She gave a sharp head shake. "Never mind, of course we should fly." Then they could get them home faster. Amy tested her wing, wincing slightly as the muscle pulled. It was mostly healed, and she could probably fly with just a little soreness…but she wouldn't be able to carry anyone.

Her dad's mouth turned down, and he looked torn about something for a moment before finally drawing in a deep breath and reaching for her arm. "We'll go—but we need to be cautious."

Amy frowned at him. "Why?"

"Like Dean said, it's not safe. The British Men of Letters may be close on their trail."

Oh. Then they definitely needed to hurry.

She felt a puff of air as her dad's wings gave a mighty flap, and he flew them through the ether to land outside what appeared to be an old farmhouse. Fields surrounded the property on three sides, and woodland on the other. There was a barn further back against one of the pastures, and a windmill out among overgrown reeds. There was no sign of farm animals or equipment, as though the place was abandoned.

Castiel squinted as he studied the old house. "Stay close to me," he said quietly, and started to head around to the back.

Amy kept pace with him, twisting her head back and forth in search of her mom or uncles. Were they hiding? Then why couldn't she call out to them to let them know it was safe? But her dad was being quiet, so she did the same.

They circled around to the rear of the house where the back door was open, yet before Amy could move forward to check inside, a man dressed in black combat gear stepped out from behind the porch. Amy saw the flicker of fire as a lighter was tossed on the ground, and too late she felt the roar of flames whoosh up into a wide circle around her and Castiel. Her grace instinctively quailed away from the zing of holy fire, and she shot a horrified look back at the smug looking man.

Castiel's expression darkened. "You were at the bunker."

"Yes," he replied, his chipper British accent sounding incongruent with the coldness in his eyes. "And it seems banishing you two was premature." His gaze flicked to Amy, something glinting there that wasn't a reflection of the flames.

Castiel put himself in front of her like a shield.

The man smirked. "Oh, I do enjoy an angel."

He drew a handgun, aimed it at them, and pulled the trigger. The shot cracked the air, making Amy jump. Castiel staggered back against her, and then after a delayed second, started sinking to his knees.

"Dad?" she cried, grabbing his arm and going down with him. He grunted as he hit the dirt. She pushed around him to get a look, and the breath caught in her throat when she saw blue grace oozing through the bullet hole in his stomach. But…that shouldn't be possible.

She whipped her head up as the man raised his hand to make a gesture, and then four other humans were coming out of the house, all armed with rifles. They surrounded the circle of holy fire, weapons trained on her.

The man in charge gave her a leering grin. "Bag and tag it, gentlemen."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who's reading and reviewing! I'm glad you're enjoying this. ^_^ And we're gonna have some progress in this chapter!**

* * *

Chapter 5

Terror shot through Amy as the men readied their rifles. Beside her, Castiel was listing to the side, blood and grace pouring out of the bullet hole in his gut. She couldn't let them kill her father.

Her grace was recoiling from the holy fire hemming them in, but she shoved down the revulsion and summoned up her phoenix flame. A chord trumpeted from within, connecting with the nearby flames, and with a raging shout and burst of power, the holy fire exploded outward, sending the humans flying.

Amy leaped to her feet and ran at the nearest man who only lay dazed. She delivered a swift sidekick to his face that promptly knocked him out.

She heard a click and swish, and felt a stinging burn in the back of her arm. Twisting around, she found she'd been hit with a dart, not a bullet.

Amy yanked it out and flung it back at the man who'd fired it. The needle pierced his neck, and he fell back with a gasp and gurgle.

She spun to face another attack, but stumbled as her blood started to quicken with searing intensity. The needle mark burned, and whatever substance was pumping into her muscle, it felt heavy. There was also a metallic tang suddenly in the back of her throat.

Amy gave herself a sharp shake and refocused on her surroundings. Four of the humans were down, but the leader was staggering to his feet and swinging his gun around. She charged him, bringing an arm up to knock the weapon away. Then she followed up with a punch to the jaw.

His head snapped back, but he took the blow in stride and retaliated with an uppercut of his own that punched the air from her lungs. Amy almost doubled over, but fierce determination kept her upright, and she responded with a karate chop to the back of his neck and one to his wrist that made him drop the gun.

She was flagging, though, her muscles straining against whatever poison she'd been dosed with. A quick glance over her shoulder showed her dad slumped on the ground, one hand clutching his stomach, his shoulders shaking with ragged breaths. They needed to get out of here.

The human dove for his gun. Amy pivoted and swung a roundhouse kick right into his face that sent him sprawling unconscious in the dirt. She turned and stumbled back to Castiel, grabbing his arm and doing her best to haul him to his feet. He gritted his teeth as he fought to help support his own weight, but he sagged against her. There was no way she'd be able to fly them, so with no other options, she turned toward the tree line and they started staggering their way into the cover of the woods.

Her only thought was escape, not direction, and she had no idea how much ground they covered with their desperate but tottering pace. Castiel tripped several times, and Amy was starting to feel hot, like her insides were melting.

She finally lurched toward a nook between the gnarled roots of a giant oak, and both she and Castiel collapsed onto the ground. He curled in on himself with a pained noise.

"Dad?" she called worriedly.

He leaned back, enough to expose his stomach and the bloodstained dress shirt. Amy's heart leaped into her throat as she saw grace was still bleeding through.

"I don't understand. Guns can't hurt angels…"

"The bullet was made of…angel blade…material," he gasped between labored breaths. "I've seen it…before."

Her eyes widened. _Angel_ bullets?

"What do I do? Dad, what do I do?"

But his eyes had fluttered shut and Castiel had slumped against the tree.

 _No, no, no_. Amy held her palm over the wound and tried to summon up her grace. But it wasn't responding. Her hand was shaking and sweat was streaming from her pores. She was too hot, and she shrugged out of her coat. Some kind of poison was burning through her veins, and her grace was sluggishly rallying to combat it. But until it was gone, she couldn't heal her dad, and she couldn't get them out of here.

Tears welled up in her eyes and her throat threatened to close off. This was all her fault. Dean hadn't been at the farmhouse. He probably wasn't even the one who'd texted her. It'd been a trap, and she'd walked them both right into it.

Amy glanced around the woods helplessly, but help wasn't likely to come upon them. She turned back to Castiel, swallowing hard. She took her jacket and wadded it up to press against his wound. He didn't stir.

With one hand maintaining pressure, Amy scooted to the side and raised her dad's head to rest against her hip instead of the mulch. And then she sat there under the darkening trees, clinging to her father and silently praying for him to stay with her.

* * *

Dean pounded his fists against the glass door. "Hey! Help! My brother needs help!"

In the cell across from him, Sam was curled in the fetal position, his back to Dean, shaking like he was having a seizure.

Dean slammed the glass so hard it wobbled, though didn't break. "Someone help!" he bellowed as loud as he could. These walls weren't soundproof; someone had to hear him.

A guard finally rounded the corner, shooting him a put-out look.

"My brother," Dean yelled. "Do something!"

The guard turned to the other cell, hesitating only a moment before grabbing a keycard off his vest and unlocking the door. The glass panel slid open and he hurried inside, dropping down to one knee to check on his prisoner.

Sam flipped over and sucker punched him square in the jaw, knocking the guard flat on his ass. Then he was leaping to his feet and grabbing the P90 slung over the guy's shoulder. Twisting the strap, Sam yanked it taut so it cinched up right under the guard's jugular. A startled gasp escaped his throat as his eyes blew wide, and he scrabbled to relieve the pressure. Sam planted a knee into his back, driving him face first into the floor and holding him there.

Dean watched with grim satisfaction as the guy choked and flailed until he finally passed out. Then he glanced urgently down the hall in case more had heard his earlier shouts.

Sam unwound the shoulder strap from the guard to free the gun, and snatched up the keycard as well. He then rushed to Dean's cell and unlocked it. Now to find Ryn.

Exchanging silent looks, they headed down the corridor, tensed for an alarm to start sounding or more guards to come rushing at them. But none did.

The compound was like a labyrinth, though, sections taking ninety-degree turns here and there. They passed what looked like storage rooms and personal quarters, each one no bigger than the cells they'd been in, as though this entire place had been retrofitted out of a bunch of small blocks.

Some rooms were bigger, though. They passed what looked like a laboratory where a couple of people in white lab coats were working. But those goons didn't notice them as they slipped past.

"I don't think this operation is very big," Sam said in a hushed voice.

Dean didn't respond. He supposed that made sense, since this wasn't the Brits' home base, but a temporary one they'd apparently constructed for their little jaunt across the Atlantic.

And while making a clean getaway would be a good thing, they actually did need to find someone to tell them where Ryn was being kept. Dean hoped she was in this facility…

They finally rounded a corner and came face to face with another guard. He stared at them in surprise for a moment before reaching for his side holster, but the Winchesters were faster. Sam thrust the side of the P90 into the man's face, knocking him back a step, and Dean wrenched his handgun away from him. Dean then threw an arm against his chest and slammed him back against the wall.

"Where's the phoenix?" he growled.

The man let out a choked wheeze, and Dean adjusted his elbow up to press against his windpipe.

"You're gonna take us to her right now, or I'm going to break your kneecaps."

The guard flicked an uncertain look between them, but then gave a shaky nod. Dean eased up and grabbed his collar, shoving him forward. Sam lifted the P90 and pressed the barrel into the guy's back. He stumbled forward, taking the next turn down an adjoining corridor. Everything looked the same in this place.

"Which way's out?" Dean snapped.

The guy glanced over his shoulder, a welt forming across his face. At the next juncture, he pointed to the left, but led them right. A few more spaces down and they came upon a cell just like the other ones, only with Ryn inside. She was chained to the floor, and Dean's fury erupted anew.

Sam took the keycard to the door while Dean took the butt of the handgun and clobbered the guard in the head. He then grabbed the guy's collar and dragged his unconscious ass inside, tossing him against the wall.

"Oh god," Sam choked.

Dean turned and froze. The veins in Ryn's arms were aglow, yellow up near her shoulders, but darker and almost red down at her elbow where an IV line was steadily delivering some kind of silvery fluid into her arm. They looked like molten fissures in her flesh, and Dean was suddenly and horrifically reminded of Elijah when he went nuclear.

He and Sam surged forward at the same time, Sam reaching the line first and yanking it out. Dean reached for Ryn's head and cupped the side of her face. Her eyes were closed, and her skin was hot to the touch.

Sam tracked the IV line to a bag hanging from a hook in the ceiling, and squinted at it. He sucked in a sharp breath. "They've been giving her liquid iron. Shit, and mercury."

Dean stiffened. That stuff wouldn't kill supernatural beings, but it sure hurt them like hell. He had no idea what continuous, _intravenous_ , exposure would do, though… And what the hell was the mercury for? Something to keep the iron liquidated?

He turned his attention to the manacles around her wrists, neck, and ankles. "These need more than a keycard."

"On it." Sam jumped up and went over to rifle through the guard's pockets.

Dean glanced back out into the hall, worried they would be discovered any second. But Sam came back with an actual key and quickly unlocked the shackles. Ryn moaned, her eyelids fluttering.

"Easy, we got you," Dean said, sliding his arms under her back and knees and scooping her into his arms. A small whimper passed her lips, and she tried weakly to cling to his neck.

"Hang on, sweetheart. We're getting you out of here."

Sam snatched up the handgun and tucked it in his waistband before hefting the P90 and taking the lead as they ventured back into the corridor. They backtracked toward the juncture where the guard had said the way out was, and hurried down it, eyes and ears peeled for sounds of the enemy ahead or behind. But they managed to make it to an outer door without running across anyone else.

However, there were two armed guards standing watch outside. One was right inside the security cage surrounding the door they burst out of. Thankfully, there wasn't a lot of space, so Sam was quickly able to charge the smaller man and deck him with the P90. Just outside the yard at the perimeter gate, however, was another guard who immediately started shooting his semi-automatic at them.

Bullets ricocheted off the wire, and Dean ducked down instinctively, careful not to lose his grip on Ryn. Sam fired back, the rapid report of the gun cracking Dean's eardrums.

The guard jerked as he was clipped, and went down, unmoving. An alarm started blaring somewhere above their heads.

Shit, time to move.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, pointing across the lot to where an SUV was parked. Probably one of the ones that had brought them here in the first place.

Sparing a quick glance around for more guards, they broke cover and sprinted toward it. Now that they were outside, Dean finally got a look at the British Men of Letters' base. There was what looked like an old factory in the back, but the compound itself was a bunch of shipping containers that had been constructed to make the labyrinthine-like structure.

They reached the SUV, which was thankfully unlocked. Sam yanked the back side door open and Dean clambered in with Ryn still in his arms. His brother then slammed the door and scrambled around to climb into the driver's seat.

The seats in the back had been folded down—definitely the vehicle they'd been trussed up in—and Dean shifted to set Ryn down in case he needed to hot wire the car. But Sam flipped down the visor and a set of keys fell into his lap.

Jackpot.

Sam jammed the key into the ignition and turned it, the engine rumbling to life. Dean glanced out the window and saw the compound door swinging open.

"Time to go!" he shouted.

Not that his brother needed to be told that. Sam threw the vehicle in gear and rammed the gas pedal, cranking the wheel as he did so. The tires squealed and burnt rubber permeated the cab as the SUV made a sharp turn in the lot. Dean could only watch as guards filed out and started firing. Bullets pelted the vehicle, and Dean tucked Ryn in close, folding himself over her protectively in case any of those pierced through the metal sheeting.

The SUV fishtailed slightly as Sam straightened it out, and then he revved the engine harder, barreling right through the security fence. The hail of bullets petered off as they made it onto the road and picked up speed.

Dean's heart was hammering in his chest, and he looked out the back window in search of pursuit. But he hadn't seen any other vehicles in the yard, and with the limited manpower these guys seemed to have, he wondered how quickly they'd be able to mobilize something.

They would be after them, though, Dean was sure about that. How the hell were they going to get out of this one?

But while that was a pressing question, there were other urgent matters at hand. Dean rocked back, Ryn still in his arms, and reached up to feel her pulse. It was racing, and he was beginning to sweat from _her_ fever.

Sam cast a look in the rearview mirror. "How is she?"

"I don't know. I mean, she doesn't seem like she's about to go off like a bomb, so…"

Sam twisted around, jaw tight.

"We need to ditch this car," Dean said. "Then find Cas and Amy."

His brother nodded. "Looks like we're kinda out in the boonies." He punched the vehicle's navigation system and tried to search for something nearby, but the feature wouldn't work while they were moving, and they weren't risking pulling over just yet, so they'd just have to drive until they found a large parking lot.

Ryn let out a pained mewl.

"Hey," Dean gasped. "Hey, hey, hey. You okay?"

Her eyelids fluttered dazedly, eyes glassy with pain and sickness. "Dean?" she rasped.

"Yeah. You're gonna be okay, you hear me? We're gonna get you someplace safe."

"Amy," she choked out. "They're going…after…"

Dean's mouth thinned into a tight line. "I know."

And they had no way to warn her and Cas. Not until they found a payphone.

"That liquid iron they gave you," he went on, changing the subject. "What's it doing to you?"

She closed her eyes and turned her face into his shirt. "Burning. Just…burning."

Dean exchanged a fraught look with Sam. There wasn't anything they could do about that either until they found a place to regroup.

Dean felt the SUV's speed subtly increase, even though they were already going over the limit. He tucked Ryn's head under his chin and silently willed her to hold on. Silently pleaded for the rest of his family to hang on wherever they were.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Castiel woke groggily to the scent of pine and wet leaves. Golden shafts of light trickled through the green canopy above his head, and birds flitted throughout the branches. He shifted, only to bite back a groan as pain lanced through his stomach.

"Dad?" Amy's face appeared over him, eyes wide and searching worriedly.

He pressed a shaky hand to his wound. His grace was sputtering around it, trying to heal the damage, but the bullet was still inside him, its celestial alloy blocking his powers.

"I'm here," he said hoarsely, and angled his head up at his daughter. He frowned as he took in her pale pallor and flushed cheeks. Alarm zinged through him. "Are you all right?" Castiel tried to sit up, but failed, and slumped back against the tree at his back.

Amy's breaths were somewhat short, but he didn't remember her getting injured. She bit her lip before responding. "I got hit with a dart. I don't know what was in it, but I've been feeling sick all night."

Castiel's mind was awhirl taking that in, and he instinctively reached out to touch her forehead. But he couldn't heal himself, and therefore couldn't hope to ease her pain. He also couldn't even tell what poison it was that would possibly have an effect on her.

"It _is_ slowly wearing off," she added.

Well, that was good. Wait, all night? A quick glance up at the sky again revealed it was much earlier than when they'd arrived at the farmhouse, meaning they'd been out in the woods overnight, with Castiel unconscious and unable to protect his daughter.

This time he managed to force himself into an upright position with upbraiding resolve. Those men would likely come after them, if they weren't out looking already. They needed to keep moving.

But a spasm in his gut reminded Castiel that wasn't doable with his current injury.

"I tried to heal it," Amy spoke up, voice cracking. "But it didn't work."

"It's okay," he assured her. "Healing won't work until the bullet is out anyway."

Her eyes flicked down to his stomach, then back up. "How do we get it out?" she asked fearfully.

Castiel's mouth pressed into a grim line. This was not going to be pleasant.

He grimaced as he summoned his angel blade from the ethereal plane, moving his arm so it could slide down his sleeve into his hand. Then he struggled to get into a position where he could see what he was doing.

Amy's eyes blew wide. "Dad…"

"I have to make the entry wound bigger in order to dig it out," he explained, pulling the hem of his shirt up to expose his stomach. The hole had stopped oozing grace, but was still sluggishly bleeding.

Amy's throat bobbed and she shifted onto her knees. "What do you need me to do?"

Castiel gave her a small look of pride for being willing to help, but he could handle this. It wouldn't be the first time he'd had to dig an angel bullet out of his gut. He briefly wondered if the British Men of Letters was where Crowley had gotten the idea from.

"You don't have to watch," he said kindly, and then steeled himself.

Amy let out a shaky breath, but didn't look away, and instead gripped his shoulder to brace him as he angled the tip of the blade toward himself.

Castiel clenched his jaw and tried not to make a sound as the blade scored across his flesh and to his true form underneath. It would have been better to use a mundane weapon that couldn't pierce his grace, but neither he nor Amy carried one of those, and he'd rather endure the pain of precision rather than try to find a jagged rock to do the job instead.

Once the wound was widened a couple inches or so, Castiel set his blade aside. His hands were shaking, but he took a deep breath and plunged his thumb and forefinger into the hole, gritting his teeth against a strangled sound. Amy's fingernails dug into his shoulder, giving him something else to focus on long enough to recollect himself. He had to do this quickly and efficiently.

Trembling with shuddering breaths, Castiel closed his eyes and concentrated on feeling out the bullet lodged in the soft tissue. His fingers finally brushed it, but they were slick with blood which made the steel hard to grasp. Grunting painfully, he pushed just a little deeper, finally getting a hold of the bullet. As much as he wanted to yank it out, he had to force himself to go slowly, lest he lose his grip.

Finally, he pulled the blood covered bullet free and let it drop on the ground. Then he sagged against the tree trunk in exhaustion.

Amy scooted around and held a hand over his stomach, but her grace flickered weakly as she tried to channel it.

"Save your strength," Castiel breathed.

Her expression pinched, but she removed her hand. Castiel's grace would start to heal him now, though it would take time to mend damage done by angelic weaponry.

Time they didn't have.

Castiel fumbled around for a root or branch to grasp hold of. "Help me up."

"Dad, no. We should wait a little bit," Amy protested.

He shook his head doggedly. "They'll be after us. We need to keep moving."

He thought about flying, but he was too weakened, and with Amy's wing just barely healed from the sprain, not to mention whatever she'd been poisoned with, she wouldn't be able to carry them both.

He managed to get himself on his feet, though he had to lean heavily against the tree to do so. He wiped his bloodied hand on his coat as best he could, and then asked Amala to pick up his angel blade, which he then stowed in the inside flap of his coat. She ducked in to help support his weight, and together they set off, hobbling their way through the woods.

Castiel regretted their haste of flying all the way out here. Yes, reuniting with the Winchesters and Ryn was of paramount importance, but he'd started to forget how useful—and sometimes necessary—travel by car was. Now they'd either have to procure a vehicle if they happened to come across one, or keep moving long enough to evade capture in time for Castiel's wound to heal so he could fly them to safety.

Neither option boded well for them.

Castiel's breathing was so audibly labored as they stumbled along that he almost didn't hear the snapping of a twig behind them. But it was too late. As he lurched to a stop to throw a look over his shoulder, two men in black military type gear had already gained on them.

One pulled up short and took aim. Castiel pushed Amy out of the way, the dart hitting him in the shoulder instead. He frowned as a metallic type of substance surged through his veins. Were they trying to dose her with iron? Well, it did nothing to him. Castiel drew his angel blade and threw it at the man, hitting him in the upper arm. He'd been aiming for center mass, but his muscles had quailed under the strain, ruining the strike. Still, the man fell backward, his gun dropping from slackened fingers.

Castiel staggered as his stomach muscles pulled, but he stumbled toward the other attacker who was raising a handgun toward him. He had a brief second to wonder if it was loaded with more angel bullets, but then Amy was leaping toward the man with a hefty tree branch and clobbering him in the side of the head. He pitched backward, and Amy struck out again.

Castiel turned back to the other man, who was getting up. Gritting his teeth, he lumbered forward and managed to knock away the knife the thug had whipped out. He punched the man once, twice, and a third time finally put him down. And almost took Castiel with him.

He swayed in place and tried to catch his balance. His angel blade was on the ground now, and he bent down to snatch it up, but just as his fingers closed around the hilt, he felt the press of cold steel against his neck. Another angel blade.

A hand fisted in the back of his hair and a knee to the back drove him to the ground. His head was yanked up, giving him a full view of the leader of this militant group. He had fresh bruises forming on his face as he seethed down at Castiel.

There was a grunt and dull thud, and Castiel's gaze flicked to Amy where she'd knocked out her opponent. She whipped around, going rigid at the sight of them.

"That's enough, little girl," the man said sharply, pulling back Castiel's head even further until he gasped at the harsh angle. "I'm happy to take both of you into custody, but a mere angel isn't the prize here, and if I have to, I'll slit his throat." He pressed the blade in closer to emphasize his point, and Castiel hissed at the bite of steel nicking his skin.

"Don't!" Amy shouted desperately.

The man's lip curled upward. "Then be a good pet, and put on those sigiled handcuffs on that man's belt."

She glanced down at the silver bracelets attached to the soldier's gear.

"Amala, don't," Castiel urged.

The blade dug in deeper, stealing his breath.

Amy's eyes were wide and terrified as she hovered indecisively, but Castiel knew she would never save herself. And so he watched with sinking despair as she knelt down and took the handcuffs from the unconscious man, snapping them around her wrists. She jolted slightly, probably from the feeling of having her grace suddenly locked down tight. Castiel's heart constricted.

But for all her obvious fear, Amala managed to lift her head toward their captor. "What did you do with the rest of my family?" she demanded, voice only slightly wavering.

The man smirked. "If you come with us quietly, you just might get to see them one last time."

 _No_. Castiel was not going to let them take her. A fresh burst of frenzied adrenaline shot through him, and Castiel grabbed the man's arm holding the blade to his throat, and with strength only a parent whose child is in peril could possess, he flipped the man over his shoulder.

His own angel blade was still on the ground at his knees, and Castiel snatched it up, but before he could strike, the man had rolled out of the way and into a crouch, expression livid. He flipped the blade around for an attack, and Castiel knew that even with this last-ditch surge of energy, he was in no shape to fight against a well-trained soldier.

And so Castiel lurched to his feet and lunged for Amy instead, grabbing her by the arms. His momentum pitched them toward the ground, but he spread his wings and flung them into the ether before they hit the dirt.

Flying sent lightning bolts of pain shooting through his stomach and around his back. His wings faltered under the strain, almost veering them off course. But Castiel gritted his teeth and focused on one destination with all his might, clinging to Amy with equal ferocity.

They tumbled through the ethereal currents for another second before exiting and crash landing in the middle of a living room, narrowly avoiding shattering a glass coffee table. Castiel gasped as his body seized, and he curled onto his side. Amy lay next to him on her back, blinking dazedly.

"What in the hell…" a female voice uttered in shock.

Castiel struggled to lift his head toward the two women who had been sitting at the dining table, but were now staring in stupefaction.

"I'm sorry," Castiel panted as he shot Jody Mills and Claire a pleading yet apologetic look. "I didn't…know…where else…to go."

And with that, his body finally gave out under the strain and he collapsed into oblivion.

* * *

Jody stared for a delayed moment at the two bodies that had dropped into her living room out of thin air. Castiel was covered in blood and had promptly passed out after landing. Next to him, Amy struggled into an upright position, her hands cuffed in front of her.

Jody finally snapped out of her stupor and surged from her chair, Claire a beat behind her. "What happened?" she asked urgently, coming around the table.

Claire reached Amy's side first and knelt down next to her. "Were you attacked at the bunker?"

The girl shook her head, worried eyes trained on her unconscious father. "We got a message from Dean that they escaped. Or, I thought it was from him. It was a trap. They…they shot Dad with an angel bullet."

Jody's eyes widened as she took in Castiel's condition. That didn't sound good.

She hurried to the stairs and shouted up to the second floor. "Alex! We need you!" She then turned back, trying to figure out what needed to be done first. She'd never imagined an angel would need first aid, but clearly that was the case here.

Alex rushed down the stairs, expression slackening in shock when she reached the landing. "What…?"

"Castiel's been shot," Jody explained. "Oh, that's Castiel, by the way. And Amy." She nodded to the girl.

Alex, thankfully, immediately went into professional mode once she saw the blood, and headed for her backpack by the door, which had a bunch of supplies from her nursing school program. "Jody, I need towels and water," she said.

Jody pivoted toward the hall closet to grab the items. Upon returning, she started throwing pillows off the couch and laying down the largest towels over the cushions. Claire was still sitting on the floor trying to pick the lock of the handcuffs on Amy's wrists.

"Was it those British Men of Letters?" Claire asked.

"I guess so," Amy replied numbly. Jody wondered if she was going into shock too. "They had British accents. Dad recognized the leader from the bunker, before we were banished."

Then they definitely couldn't go back there.

Jody turned to the angel out cold on her floor. There was nothing for it. She grabbed his legs while Alex grabbed under his arms, and together they hefted him onto the couch.

Alex snapped on a pair of gloves and started pushing away the bloodied layers of clothes. "There's no exit wound."

"Dad dug the bullet out," Amy said quietly.

Jody's brows rose sharply. Damn.

"Then shouldn't he be healing?" Claire interjected as she finally got the cuffs to unlock.

"It was made from an angel bullet," Amy said. "I tried to heal him." Now she started to sound distraught, and she was beginning to shiver.

"Hey," Claire said, trying to catch her eye. "You okay? Were you hit somewhere?"

The kid shook her head. "They tranked me with something. I don't know what. It's almost burned out, but my grace won't work." She turned to Alex. "Please help him."

Alex paused in her task long enough to give the girl a sage nod. "I will, I promise."

"How can I help?" Jody asked.

"I need a bowl of water."

Right, she'd forgotten. Jody went into the kitchen and grabbed one of the large mixing bowls from the cupboard and filled it with warm water. When she came back, Claire had gotten Amy off the floor and into the recliner. Alex was examining a cut along Castiel's neck that was weeping blood.

"Okay," she said, "this isn't deep. Jody, if you can clean it, I'll get started on the bullet wound." She paused. "Do you think he needs stitches? I mean, I've gotten to practice some, but I'm not an expert or anything."

"Once his angel healing kicks in, it won't matter," Claire put in. "I'm sure he just needs something to hold him over until then, right?" She looked at Amy for confirmation.

The poor girl just blinked back at her uncertainly.

"Maybe you should get Amy some juice," Jody suggested to Claire, then turned to start cleaning the blood away from the laceration on Castiel's throat. By the angle, she had a good idea how it'd gotten there. But Alex was right and it wasn't deep, so she applied some antiseptic and then placed a patch of gauze over it.

"Can you grab a fresh cloth and stand here?" Alex asked her once she was done. "I'm gonna try to stitch, but the wound is still bleeding and I need someone to mop up the excess."

"You got it." Jody grabbed a clean cloth and the bowl of water, and took up position at the ready.

Claire came back with a cup of orange juice and a blanket for Amy, and then stood back and watched as Alex carefully stitched up the angel whom Claire had a…complicated relationship with. But Jody knew she cared for him, and she desperately hoped that what little they were doing would be enough.

Jody watched the steady nip and tuck of Alex's suturing until the wound was closed as best as she could manage. Given its jagged edges—presumably from digging the bullet out—it was good work.

Alex rocked back and let out a long breath. She set the needle and thread aside, and then taped down a large pad of gauze over the wound. "Can angels get infections?"

Jody glanced at Claire. She had no idea.

Claire shrugged, and looked at Amy, but the girl's eyes were drooping where she sat curled up in the chair.

Alex nodded as though the silence was answer enough. "I'll watch for it, then."

"And we should get back to work," Jody said, nodding to Claire. They'd been in the middle of trying to track the money flow of the plane charter and rental cars when they'd been so shockingly interrupted. It was slow-going work, and not even Jody's law enforcement connections could breach the shield of diplomatic status. But they hoped to at least maybe find a money connection to some property where the Winchesters were potentially being held at.

Leaving their charges in Alex's capable hands, Jody returned to the table and the area where her expertise came in handy. She just hoped they found something soon.

* * *

 **A/N: And now our wayward sisters are here to help!**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Dean kept glancing in the rearview mirror, expecting black SUVs to come careening down the highway after them at any moment. They'd dumped the vehicle they'd escaped from the yard in and had switched to an older Honda model they'd stolen outside a shopping outlet. And from there, Dean had started heading west back to Kansas after learning they were somewhere in Iowa.

He knew they couldn't go back to the bunker, though. If the Brits had already sent a team after Cas and Amy, that was the first place they'd look.

Dean wanted to believe that not even British Men of Letters would have a way to capture a fully powered angel and a half angel, half phoenix, but then, he hadn't expected them to be able to incapacitate the Alpha phoenix, either.

He craned his neck to glance in the backseat. Ryn was an unmoving lump under his jacket.

A gas station appeared up ahead, and Dean finally pulled off the road, confident in the head start they'd gotten. Now they needed to contact Cas and Amy—and hope it wasn't too late.

Sam dug around in the glove box for spare change, luckily finding enough to use the payphone. While he went to do that, Dean got out and opened the backdoor to check on Ryn.

Her pallor had an ashen tinge to it, despite the heat of fever. She looked awful, just as bad as when the Darkness had extinguished her fire and she'd been dying. Dean's throat tightened at the memory, and he lifted his jacket to get a look at her arms. The glowing veins running through her skin were still prominent.

Dean tucked the jacket around her shoulder and leaned in close. "You are not allowed to die," he told her firmly. "Cas and Amy need you."

She didn't answer, trapped in the unconsciousness of her febrile state.

Dean rubbed a hand down his face and stood up. He couldn't give up. He just didn't know what to _do_.

Sam came jogging back to the car. "I got through to Amy's phone. Claire answered. She and Cas are at Jody's."

Dean felt a wave of relief wash over him. Then they'd gone somewhere safe.

He shut the backdoor and climbed back into the driver's seat. "How far away are we?"

Sam's brow pinched. "I don't know. Um, didn't that sign back there say it was fifty miles to South Dakota?"

Dean started up the engine and pulled onto the highway, changing direction to head north. "Okay, so we can probably be there in a couple of hours." He frowned. "Wait, why did Claire answer Amy's phone?"

Sam's mouth turned down. "Uh, I don't know, actually. She just said they've been looking for us, and she was glad to hear we'd escaped for real."

"For real? What's that mean?"

Sam shrugged, but his eyes crinkled thoughtfully. "Maybe the British Men of Letters used our phones, tried to draw them out."

Dean's stomach dropped out from under him at the thought. But it obviously hadn't succeeded.

Still, he was anxious to get back to Cas and Amy, and then they could all try to figure out what to do with an entire organization out gunning for them.

At least it wasn't all of _Heaven_. Though with their home compromised, it kinda felt just as dire.

Dean made good time making it to Sioux Falls, and within two and a half hours, he was pulling into Jody's driveway. He and Sam were just getting out of the car when the front door opened and Jody and Claire came out. Jody immediately went to Sam and put her arms around him, then Dean.

"We've been worried sick. Glad to see you boys are in one piece."

Dean's jaw tightened. "Not all of us."

He opened the back door and reached in to lift Ryn out. His jacket slid off in the backseat, exposing her arms.

Jody's eyes widened. "Oh, jeez." She stepped back and gestured for them to hurry inside.

Ryn was completely limp and unresponsive in Dean's arms, and he tried to be gentle while also quickening his pace. Once through the front door, though, he drew up short and stared in shock at Cas unconscious on the couch, his clothes bloodstained.

"What the hell?" he exclaimed.

"Cas?" Sam sputtered behind him, hurrying toward the angel. "What happened?"

"Long story," Jody replied. "As I know you guys have. Let's put them on hold for now. Cas is gonna be fine. Alex patched him up and he seems to be healing. Faster than a human, anyway."

Dean whipped his gaze around. "Where's Amy?" Was she hurt too? Was that why Claire had answered her phone? Dammit, why hadn't she said anything to Sam?

"Sleeping in my room," Claire answered. "She's okay too. A little worn out, but she's _fine_."

Jody gestured to Ryn, still in Dean's arms. "You can use my room."

She led the way upstairs, pausing at Alex's room to knock on her door and summon her to help. Then she ushered Dean into the last bedroom down the hallway, and he laid Ryn down on top of the queen size bed. Alex stepped in to look her over.

"Um, what is this?" she asked uncertainly, waving at the yellow and orange veins.

"Liquid iron," Dean said gruffly. "It burns supernatural beings."

Alex's brows rose sharply. "I should have gone to supernatural nursing school," she muttered, then shook her head. "I don't know what to do for this."

Dean's gut clenched. "That makes two of us."

"I guess cold compresses for the fever?" she hazarded.

Jody nodded. "I'll get some."

Dean ran a hand over his hair and turned to Alex. "What happened to Cas?"

"He was shot. Angel bullet I guess."

He stiffened. Those sons-of-bitches.

"Uncle Dean?"

He turned sharply to find Amy standing in the doorway, her hair mussed like she'd just gotten up from a nap. Her eyes widened.

" _Mom_?"

Dean quickly moved forward to wrap her in his arms. "I know it looks bad, but she's gonna be fine, okay?" _She had to be_.

"What's wrong with her?"

"She was poisoned with liquid iron. But I'm sure it'll wear off."

Amy pulled back abruptly. "That's what they tried to trank me with."

Dean blinked in confusion. "They did what?"

Amy bit her lip. "I got a text. I thought it was from you. It was a trap." Her voice broke. "They shot Dad and tried to make me go with them." Tears welled in her eyes as her gaze slid back to Ryn. "Why are they doing this?"

Dean pulled her into a fierce embrace again. "They're bad people," he said. "But we're gonna stop them."

No one touched his family and got away with it.

* * *

Leaving Ryn in Alex's care with Amy, Dean and Sam gathered around the kitchen table downstairs with Jody and Claire to fill each other in on what happened. Fresh cups of coffee were in their hands, and Dean was practically chugging his down.

"When's the last time you ate?" Jody asked, setting some hastily made sandwiches in front of them.

"I don't know. How long were we gone?"

"A few days."

Felt longer.

Dean canted his head. "Then, that long." He grabbed a sandwich and scarfed it down.

"So," Claire started. "These British Men of Letters. They, what, are blaming you for all the bad stuff that's happened since the Apocalypse?"

"Pretty much," Dean muttered.

"They also want Ryn and Amy for, I don't know, scientific study," Sam put in. "If you can call it that."

"I call it torture and experimentation," Dean growled. "And I don't care who they are. They can't just come here and decide to hunt down half our family."

"But what are we supposed to do?" Sam pressed. "They're human."

Dean snorted. "Not from where Ryn and Cas are sitting." Or, laying, unconscious still while they recovered from what these _humans_ had done to them.

Jody shook her head. "I gotta admit, this is way out of my depth. Vampire nests and werewolf packs, I can handle. But these guys sound like some kind of secret ops group, complete with money and tech behind them. Not to mention diplomatic status so that I can't even penetrate their cover through law enforcement channels."

Sam huffed softly. "You're not wrong. From what we saw…these guys are ruthless. They must have chased the phoenix Elijah all the way across the Atlantic when he escaped, and that's probably how they found out about Ryn and the rest of us."

They fell silent, and Dean gulped down more coffee, willing it to revitalize him. The adrenaline rush of escape had spurred him enough to get to safety, but now exhaustion was catching up with him.

"So, they're not gonna quit and go home," Claire surmised.

Dean's gaze dropped to the brown brew. "No," he agreed. "Not unless we make them."

"And how are we gonna do that?" Jody asked.

That, he didn't have an answer to.

Sam rubbed the back of his shoulder. "I can contact Eileen, see if she can find anything out about the Brits."

Dean shrugged. Couldn't hurt.

A muffled groan from the living room had Dean bolting out of his chair and abandoning his coffee. Cas was shifting on the couch, trying to sit up.

"Whoa, easy, buddy," Dean chided, coming around and putting a hand on the angel's shoulder.

Cas froze, eyes blowing wide. " _Dean_?" His gaze flicked to the side. " _Sam_?"

"Yeah, we escaped," Dean said. "Just take it easy, man. Alex said you were shot."

"I'm healing," he replied gruffly, stubbornly pushing himself upright. "Are _you_ all right?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "We didn't get shot."

Once he was sitting, Cas ghosted his fingers over the bandages across his stomach, then tentatively started peeling back one corner. Dean got a glimpse of stitches and red skin, but it didn't look too bad.

Claire angled a look over Dean's shoulder. "Yeah, that's better. But you should leave the stitches in. Alex put a lot of work into those and you'll make her mad if you tear them prematurely."

Cas shot her a dubious look mixed with indignation, but nevertheless folded the gauze back down and didn't touch it again.

Dean pointed to his neck. "What happened there?"

Cas reached up to feel that bandage, and this time took it completely off. There was no mark underneath it, so whatever it had been had healed.

Jody's brows rose. "Wow. Wish I had angel healing."

Cas suddenly stiffened and whipped his head around. "Amy? Ryn?"

Dean's expression tightened. "Upstairs. Can you walk?"

Cas just gave him a sharp glower and started to push himself to his feet. Dean and Sam each grabbed an arm to help him anyway. The last time Cas had been shot with an angel bullet—by Crowley—it'd taken him days to recover.

Dean roved his gaze over the bloody trench coat and stained dress shirt. "Uh, you could probably do with a change of clothes until your grace is back up to snuff."

"Actually, no offense, but you all could use a change of clothes," Claire said, scrunching her nose at them.

Dean automatically glanced down at himself. He'd been worse…but he did kind of reek of sweat and sickness from those drugs. So did Sam.

"I don't think we can go back to the bunker," he said morosely. That was going to be a sore spot.

Claire gave him a sympathetic look. "I'll run out to the thrift store and pick some stuff up. Amy already borrowed something from me and Alex, and Ryn's close in size to Jody."

Dean exchanged an uncertain look with Sam. "Uh…"

Claire smirked. "Don't worry. I'll find something in flannel." She snatched up her keys and headed for the door.

"And you guys can stay here as long as you need," Jody said, meeting their eyes earnestly one by one.

"Thanks, Jody," Sam said softly.

She nodded. "Guess I should run to the store, though, if I'm gonna be cooking for a bunch of extra people."

Dean's stomach cramped with hunger at the suggestion.

"Thank you, Jody," Cas said sagely.

She smiled at him. "Hey, it's not every day I get to entertain angels."

With that, Jody grabbed her jacket and headed out as well.

Dean and Sam turned to help Cas up the stairs.

"Cas, listen," Dean started. "Ryn is…she's sick."

Cas's gaze snapped to his. "They hurt her."

A lump settled in Dean's throat. "Yeah. They were keeping her drugged with iron. It's- it's not wearing off very fast."

Cas tried to quicken his pace, and couldn't hide his grimace at doing so. Dean didn't try to stop him, just followed behind him and Sam as they made their way up to Jody's room.

Amy was sitting in a chair by the bed, but jumped up when they entered. "Dad!" She rushed over and nearly plowed into Cas. He grunted slightly, but wrapped his arms around her and held on tight.

"I'm fine," he whispered. They stayed like that for an extra beat, and Dean watched the pain filled lines in Cas's face smooth out a little before he pulled back. "That's enough. I'm healing." He gave her a critical look. "Are you okay?"

Amy nodded, but her expression crumpled. "I can't heal Mom."

They turned to the figure in the bed. Alex stood up and quietly took the cloth and bowl of water she'd been mopping Ryn's brow with into the bathroom.

Cas's arm tightened around Amy. "Phoenix fire doesn't work that way," he said in a low voice heavy with haunted memories.

He moved toward the bed, carefully sinking onto the edge of the mattress and reaching out to brush back a strand of Ryn's hair. Her brow scrunched up and she whimpered, but her eyes peeled open to slits.

"Cas," she breathed.

"I'm here." He cupped the side of her face, and she leaned into the touch. "I'm right here."

Her eyes slid closed, and the lines around Cas's crinkled with anguish.

"She'll be fine with time, right?" Sam spoke up softly.

Cas looked like he was working to formulate an answer, gaze roving over Ryn with that penetrating intensity, as though he were attempting to sense what was going on beneath the surface.

"I hope so," he finally whispered. "They mixed the iron with mercury. I think to keep her blood from purifying it too quickly."

Dean's jaw tightened. He was going to _kill_ those bastards.

Sam shifted his weight. "But she's not…I mean, she's not gonna…like Elijah…?"

Cas moved his other hand to trace the faint yellow veins in Ryn's arm. At least the color was starting to fade. That had to mean something good. "I don't think so," he said carefully. "It took years for that to happen to him."

Years of this kind of treatment. Bile rose in the back of Dean's throat.

"We'll figure this out," he promised. "We'll stay here until you and Ryn are back on your feet, and then we'll go from there."

Cas gave him a look that was as full of doubt as his words were. But Dean mustered the bravado to lift his chin staunchly.

"Hey, we've gotten out of worse. At least it's not Heaven chasing us across the country threatening to blow up the state," he added, drawing up his earlier thought.

Amy straightened. "Can the angels help us?"

Cas sighed. "If Gabriel was around, then of course. But without him…the other angels won't get involved in the affairs of humans."

Yeah, what a time for the archangel to be MIA. But they'd handled crap on their own before. Usually it was just them. Them against the world. And they figured it out. They would again. Because that's what they always did. As long as they were together, they could handle anything.

Alex came out of the bathroom and left the fresh bowl of water and towel on the nightstand, and then excused herself, but not before giving them an encouraging smile.

…Actually, they weren't on their own this time. Not on their own at all.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Sam's spoon scraped noisily against the ceramic bowl as he hungrily dug into the oatmeal he'd gotten from Jody's pantry. Even after a full chicken dinner the night before, he was still famished. But he'd gotten a shower and change of clothes, even though the sleeves on the shirt Claire had bought were a little short on him, and he felt better after a few good hours of sleep.

Claire and Dean had taken off to dump the stolen Honda, and Alex had headed to work early. Because she actually had a job at the hospital with established shifts. And there wasn't much more she could do for her supernatural patients, anyway. Sam had checked in on them when he'd woken up, and found Amy asleep on the bed next to Ryn, Cas sitting vigil over them both. Sam had asked if his wound was any better, and had gotten a noncommittal shrug in response. He'd try to get the angel to eat something a little later, once Amy was up. She'd be good backup for guilting Cas into listening to them.

Jody came in with her open laptop. "Call for you."

Sam quirked a brow at her until she set the computer in front of him and he saw Eileen on the screen. He straightened immediately. "Hey," he said and signed simultaneously through the webcam.

"Hi, Sam," she replied with a smile. "I'm afraid I don't have much for you. People are pretty tight-lipped about the British Men of Letters, but I found a hunter who had heard of them."

"Anything you can tell us would be helpful," Sam assured her.

"Word is they've made England virtually monster free. Which sounds good, but they have a reputation for being ruthless. And not just with monsters."

Yeah, Sam could attest to that.

"They also have a ton of supernatural tech," she went on. "Weapons that can be used on monsters to quickly neutralize them." She grimaced. "Again, it kind of sounds pretty good."

"On paper," Sam replied. "But we hunt monsters who hurt people. We don't torture and experiment on them to make better weapons."

Eileen shrugged in agreement. "I'll keep reaching out to my contacts in Ireland, let you know if I find out any more."

Sam nodded gratefully. "I'll send you a new number once I get a phone."

"Be safe, Sam."

" _You too_ ," he signed back.

She disconnected the web call and the screen went black. Sam closed the laptop and returned to his breakfast, though it'd gone gloopy during the conversation and the news had left a sour feeling in his stomach.

The phone rang, and Sam heard Jody pick it up in the living room. She'd already called in for a personal day. After a few minutes, her voice started to get a little agitated. Sam felt bad for complicating her life when she was busy enough as it was. She could go in to work if she was needed; they could look after themselves. Since they weren't doing much at the moment anyway.

He finally abandoned the rest of his breakfast and stood up to go wash his dish in the sink.

Jody came in a moment later, expression troubled. "I just got a call from a hunter who said he was approached by some posh British guy who wanted to recruit him." She folded her arms across her chest. "Seems these British Men of Letters are going around recruiting lots of American hunters."

Sam's brows rose. "For what?"

Jody worked her jaw. "The way they're telling it, to stop you and Dean before you endanger the world again."

"That's ridiculous!" They _saved_ the world, dammit. None of those British Men of Letters ever stepped up to _help_.

"It gets worse."

Sam stiffened. How could it get worse?

Jody gave him a level look. "They're also telling the American hunters that in order to do that, they need to take the Alpha phoenix and phoenix-angel hybrid off the street. Troy called me up to ask if it was true, if that kind of monster really existed and the Winchesters were harboring it." She held up a hand. "His words, not mine."

Sam reeled back. So now the British Men of Letters were turning their own hunting community against them? And who knew what heinous lies they were spreading about Ryn and Amy. How were they going to protect them?

A hard lump settled in his throat. "Jody, thank you for everything you've done for us, but I don't think it's safe for us to stay here anymore. I- I don't know how much information the British Men of Letters got from me and Dean. They at least have our phones, and maybe that's how they started reaching out to hunters. But if they realize we're friends, they could come here, and it'd be safer for you all if we were gone."

Jody's expression hardened. "We can handle ourselves." She hesitated. "But I agree it'd probably be safer for _you_ if you went to a safe house. Bobby had a couple that I'm pretty sure other hunters didn't know about. We'll get you there today and you can lay low while you guys recuperate. Claire and I will handle the American hunters."

Sam frowned. "If they come looking for us, just play dumb. Don't put yourself on a side here."

She scoffed. "Of course we're on a side here, Sam. There is a right and there is a wrong, and we just have to convince the American hunters who the real enemy is."

Sam's chest constricted with gratitude and worry. He shook his head. "I appreciate the support, Jody, I do. But you don't need to stick your neck out like this."

"Yes, I do," she countered. "Because you're family. To me, to Claire, to Alex. After everything you've done for us, you think for one second we wouldn't do the same for you?" She slapped his arm. "Now stop arguing and go tell the rest of the kids we're moving."

Sam opened his mouth, but stopped. He really was touched by her loyalty and fierce devotion. And when the rest of the world seemed to be turning against them, that was just what they needed to keep going.

* * *

Dean sat on the back porch of the lake house overlooking the water, whittling aimlessly at a piece of driftwood he'd found on the beach. He wasn't really carving anything specific, just keeping his hands busy. His thoughts were too fraught with tension and violence to create anything beautiful anyway.

Incongruent with his tempestuous emotions and grave circumstances, the view was tranquil—calm, blue waters rippling under a white-speckled sky. Birds chirped melodies in the surrounding trees. It would have been a nice vacation spot for the family. The two-story house had a decent kitchen with a range stove, and a wide open living area, and then two bedrooms upstairs. It was rustic and simple, but they knew how to make do. Sometimes it was nice to get away to simplicity for a refreshing retreat.

Except they weren't on vacation. They were in hiding. Driven from their home and peace of mind by a group of people who wanted to incarcerate half of them and use the other half as lab specimens.

Dean kept one eye on his niece down at the water's edge. Her long brown curls swept over her shoulder in the slight breeze, but otherwise she remained moored on the shore, facing the waves, a silent and stoic sentinel so much like her father.

Amy had become quiet and withdrawn in the two days they'd been here. Dean knew she just needed some time to process. Her world had been turned upside down, something Dean had _never_ wanted for her. She was supposed to have a perfect life. Not almost lose both her parents and be hunted down like an animal. Like a monster.

He nicked his knife a little harder at the piece of wood in his hand, casting shavings angrily to the ground. Dean wasn't dealing with things all that well himself. He was restless, and felt trapped. Especially without a vehicle—or, mostly, his Baby—to be able to drive into town for supplies or have the means for a quick escape should they need it. Never mind their two tickets on Angel Air, because Cas was still recovering from his gunshot wound and hiding it from Amy. Dean didn't bring it up, for she was stressed enough, and it'd be a lot to have the two of them try to fly the rest of them somewhere.

No, Dean preferred the Impala. Which he didn't have. She was as much a part of their family as any of them, and he hated being without her. He hated feeling helpless.

The rumble of an engine drew him out of his brooding, and he set the driftwood aside, pocketing his knife as he stood up.

"Amy!" he called, starting to make his way around to the front of the house. Though they were safe out here—for the moment—he was still uncomfortable leaving her to go off alone.

He rounded the corner as a giant truck pulled to a stop in the dirt driveway. The front door creaked open as Sam came out as well, just as the driver's side door opened and Donna hopped out.

"Hiya, boys," she greeted.

"Hey, Donna," Sam said with a return smile, reaching out to give her a warm hug.

Dean walked up, and she gave him a pointed side look before spreading her arms and beckoning him in.

"Come on."

Dean couldn't help the corner of his lips twitching upward, and he hugged back.

Donna pulled away, and her eyes turned compassionate. "I brought you groceries and supplies. Clothes, weapons, etcetera. Oh, and this." She leaned into the truck cab toward the passenger seat, and came back out with a plastic animal carrier. A russet colored feline gave a plaintive meow inside.

Sam's mouth quirked with a relieved smile, and he quickly moved in to take the carrier. "Thank you," he practically gushed. "We really appreciate this."

"You didn't have any trouble?" Dean asked tensely.

"Not a wink," she replied. "I watched the place for a couple hours first, made sure no one else was lurking around. And then I got in and out real quick, just to be safe. Also took the Kit-Kat here on a little scenic road trip, just to make sure we weren't being followed."

Dean allowed himself to feel a small measure of relief. He wished he'd gone with her so he could have retrieved the Impala, but understood why it was better he hadn't. If the Brits had been staking out the bunker and spotted him, they would have moved in right away, and he wouldn't do his family any good getting captured again.

"Amy's gonna be really glad to see her," Sam said, lifting the carrier in reference to the cat. "She's been having a rough time of it, and hopefully having Kit with us will help some."

"She's out back," Dean told him.

Sam nodded, and turned to head around that way.

Dean stayed to help Donna start unloading the supplies.

"And how are the rest of you holding up?" she asked as she went to pop the trunk.

Dean huffed. "Honestly? I feel like I should be out there doing something, not sitting back here having a holiday." He glanced at the house, and his shoulders sagged. "But Ryn and Cas aren't doing well, and I can't leave them."

Donna just gave him a knowing look. "You're exactly where you need to be." She pulled out some grocery bags and passed them to him. "And don't worry. Me, Jody, and Rainbow Brite got your backs. You let us take point on this one, okie dokie?"

Dean snorted under his breath, but he nodded. "Thanks, Donna."

She flashed him a beaming smile. "Any time."

He shook his head, her effervescence contagious. "Come on. I'll introduce you to the rest of our motley family you're helping to protect."

"I was hoping you'd say that," she replied with a gleam in her eyes. "I've been wanting to meet an angel."

Dean finally smiled genuinely. "We got one and a half of those. And a phoenix."

Donna grinned, and filled her arms with shopping bags too. "Lead the way."

* * *

Claire stood leaning against the wall, arms crossed, as Jody addressed the group of hunters who'd agreed to meet with them about the British Men of Letters. Except, these guys weren't seeing the organization as a problem at all.

"Their goal is a world without monsters," one of the hunters was saying, leaning forward on the sofa. "Isn't that what we're all in this for?"

"And they have some really nice tech," another guy spoke up from where he was reclining in one of the dining room chairs. "Makes taking out vampires and ghouls like cake."

"I get it," Jody said, standing to face them all. "It sounds great. But have you stopped to think about the cost? What good is ridding the world of monsters if they're willing to sacrifice innocent lives while they're at it?"

"From what the Brits said, the ones they're after ain't exactly innocent."

"And you just trust them at face value?" Claire retorted. "They want to lock up a teenage girl and experiment on her just because she's not human, when the worst thing she's ever done was sneak off to a rave without permission."

"You mean the phoenix hybrid," someone, Roy, she thought, said coldly. "That kind of creature is too dangerous to let run around."

"She hasn't _done_ anything. I think she's killed one demon in her lifetime. One! And it was a _demon_."

Andrew cleared his throat. "She badly injured several of the British Men of Letters."

"That was self-defense!"

"Claire," Jody said lowly with a cautionary glance. She turned back to the seven hunters gathered in her living room. "Look, I know this kid. She's not evil. And neither are her parents. They actually hunt real monsters just like we do."

Roy shook his head. "It's not worth the risk, Jody. You can't say what she'll become in the future."

Jody shot him an incredulous glare. "That's like saying every black first grader should automatically go to prison because they _might_ become a gang member later."

He rolled his eyes. "You know that's not what we're talking about. These are monsters, not humans."

"What about Garth?" Jody rejoined. "Is that what he is to you now? A monster?" She whirled on another hunter, Lori, abruptly. "Didn't you take a case from him just last month?"

"Garth got turned; he wasn't born a werewolf."

"You think these British Men of Letters would make that distinction? Because I'm pretty sure that world without monsters spiel includes _everyone_."

The hunters exchanged looks at that, but Claire could see they were far from convinced, and it was making her angry.

"Okay, setting aside the monster debate for a second," she said snappishly, "we're also talking about you all being willing to turn on Sam and Dean Winchester. They're human."

"They _did_ start the Apocalypse," Lori said almost regretfully.

"And stopped it."

Roy rose to his feet. "And how many died in the process?"

Claire shoved away from the wall to meet him. "How many more would have if it had kept going? We wouldn't even be here right now if it wasn't for the Winchesters. You think the Apocalypse wouldn't have started without them?" She let out a humorless laugh. "The Powers That Be would have found another way to start it. It was a battle between Heaven and Hell and you think they were gonna let a bunch of humans stop them?" Claire lifted her chin. "But Sam and Dean did."

She shifted her gaze around to meet everyone else's in the room. "My dad gave his life helping the Winchesters stop the Apocalypse. He sacrificed everything to save his family, to save the world. He was a hero, and so are Sam and Dean. You know why? Because they always do the best they can in a world that's constantly falling apart. And they've never quit." Claire returned her sharp look to Roy. "You think you could have handled all that crap?"

His eyes narrowed a fraction, but before he could respond, another hunter stood up with a sigh.

"What are we really discussing here?" he asked. "Because these Brits seem like they're here to stay. And maybe they aren't perfect—but neither are the Winchesters."

"No, they're not," Jody said. "None of us are. We're all in this line of work because we've lost loved ones. Family members. And we hunt to make sure that kind of thing doesn't happen to other people. We fight to save lives. These British Men of Letters may claim that's what they're in it for, too, but look at how they got their fancy, supernatural tech—by torturing and experimenting on monsters. Now, I'm all for killing what needs killing, but we don't take pleasure in it. We don't revel in pain and suffering, because no living thing deserves that."

Jody paused, meeting each of their eyes. "What we're really discussing here is morality, and right and wrong. Would a world without monsters be great? Yes. But not if we turn ourselves into the monsters in order to accomplish it. So I'm asking you to stand on the side of right here, to stand with our own people, and our way of life. No, it's not perfect. But it's honest."

Jody nodded once, finished. Her speech was met with silence. The hunters shared looks, some uncertain, some chastised, others exasperated. Jody waited, but no one said anything.

Claire dropped her gaze to the floor, clenching her fists. If they couldn't regain the support of their own community, how on earth were they going to stand against the British invasion?


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Castiel sat on the edge of the windowsill, watching Ryn carefully as she tilted her head toward the sunlight. He'd opened the window and helped her to the chair next to it for some fresh air, which was the little he could do for her. Most of the iron had burned out of her system, but the mercury was still in her blood, and the entire ordeal had left her severely weakened, unable to walk or even stay awake for lengthy periods of time. Her complexion had taken on an ashen hue, which looked even more sickly with the pale yellow veins still showing faintly in some places.

A light breeze wafted through the window, and Ryn shivered.

Castiel immediately stood up. "Would you like a blanket?"

She shook her head tiredly. "No. It feels good."

He slowly sank back down, resisting the urge to reach out and check her temperature. She was also still running a little hot, like her inner fire was agitated. Castiel wished he could do _something_ to ease her suffering. He hated feeling helpless.

"Cas," she said softly, giving him a knowing, watery look.

He shook his head. "I hate that this is happening to you."

Silence stretched between them, but not the peaceful, companionable kind Castiel was used to, and cherished. This one was taut with grief.

Ryn finally shifted. "Cas, listen. If- if I lose control, like Elijah—"

"That won't happen."

She swallowed hard, moisture glinting in her eyes. "It still burns."

Castiel scooted closer and reached out to lay his hand over hers. "If that was going to happen, it would have already. You just need time. You _will_ get through this."

After everything they'd been through, everything they'd overcome, apart and together, they could beat this, too.

Ryn dropped her gaze. "I'm not sure time is something we have." She took a shuddering breath before looking up again. "Could Amy go to Heaven? Until we…solve this?"

Castiel gave her a rueful look. "I mentioned that to her once already. She wasn't having any of it, and I doubt she would now." He squeezed Ryn's hand. "Especially now." And then his expression fell. "But the truth is I'm not sure it's much safer there, with Gabriel gone. Joshua would protect her, and some others, but there's too many wild cards in Heaven, and if the angels found out what was happening down here with the British Men of Letters…" Castiel sighed. "I'm worried about what they'd do."

Ryn's eyes widened incredulously. "You don't think they'd _deliver_ her to them?"

"I don't want to believe that about any of the angels," he replied. "But…I've learned better."

Ryn fell quiet at that, and lolled her gaze out the window toward the lake. The water rippled and glinted in the breeze, and Castiel could hear the waves lapping lazily against the shore.

After a few more minutes, Ryn's head started to droop forward, and Castiel picked her up and carried her back to bed where she fell asleep the instant she touched the mattress. He left the window open, and moved the chair back to the side of the bed and retook his place there.

At some point, Sam came in and handed him a cup of coffee.

"How's she doing?" he asked quietly so as not to wake Ryn.

"The pain is less," Castiel replied. "But her recovery is going…slowly."

Something a creature like Ryn wasn't used to dealing with. Castiel remembered his own vexing experiences with healing that didn't come at the normal, expected rate, and understood her frustration.

"How about you?"

"I'm fine."

Sam arched a brow, and Castiel rolled his eyes.

"My wound is healed now." It had taken some time, but he had mended. Ryn would too.

Castiel wrapped his hands around the mug, feeling the heat of the brew seeping through the ceramic. "You know Ryn used to be hunted," he mused out loud. "By other monsters. Sometimes hunters. She spent centuries being targeted as the reviled spawn of Eve."

"Yeah," was Sam's soft reply.

"After everything that happened with the angels, after God stepped in and gave us his blessing, I just assumed…I'd just gotten used to the life we had that I thought that stage was over. Even when that rogue angel attacked Amala when she was with Claire, it was just the actions of _one_ angel. Not…not an organized hunt." Castiel shook his head in frustration. "I don't know why this feels different. We all have enemies, I know that. Why does this feel different?"

Sam's expression pinched with sympathy. "Because this isn't a bunch of fanatics thinking their cause is just. The British Men of Letters don't care about right or wrong; they only care about results. And they're not after Ryn and Amy as monsters who need to be taken out. They want them for experimentation and study. That's…" Sam cut off with an agitated sound. "That's why it's different. Because no amount of reasoning will get them to change their minds."

Castiel looked back to Ryn, his heart clenching painfully. "Then how am I supposed to protect them?" he whispered.

Sam moved closer and put a hand on his shoulder. "I don't know yet. But _we_ will."

Castiel looked up and gave him a tired smile, and nodded. He could always count on the Winchesters to be at his side. And that was also why he couldn't send Amala away. Because they were better together. All of them.

Sam tapped his arm. "I'll sit with her for a bit."

Castiel relinquished his chair, which Sam slid into. He cast one last look at Ryn before making his way downstairs. He heard faint thuds and crunching in the kitchen, and found Dean chopping up vegetables and throwing them in a pot on the stove. But without the elder Winchester's usual 'pep,' though Dean would be furious to know that's what the rest of them thought of it.

Dean glanced over. "Hey. Coffee okay?"

Castiel glanced down at the mug in his hand. "Yes."

"It's nothin' fancy like we have at home, but coffee is coffee," he said nonchalantly, yet Castiel detected the undercurrent of tension.

He hesitated, knowing how important the bunker was to Dean. To all of them. It _was_ home. But…

"Dean, no matter what happens…home is where we're all together. Wherever we make it."

Dean stopped his preparations, and didn't turn around. After a long beat, Castiel wondered if he shouldn't have said that. But then Dean hung his head.

"I know. You're right. I just…" He turned around. "I'm not ready to give that up. Not without a fight. And waiting around here is just…it's driving me crazy. Because we _should_ be fighting this."

"Jody and Claire…"

"I know, I know. I just…" Dean shrugged. "You know me. Patience was never my virtue."

Castiel gave him a wan smile. "But protectiveness is. I know it seems hopeless, but we've done hopeless before."

Dean's lips twitched. "Yeah. Yeah, we have. It's practically our slogan." He sighed. "I guess I was just also kinda hoping we'd turned over a new leaf in that regard."

Castiel nodded sagely. "I know what you mean."

The vegetables on the stove were sizzling, and Dean turned back to them. "Amy's outside," he said.

Castiel automatically extended his senses toward her, sensing her grace signature. It was uncharacteristically subdued.

He took a sip of his coffee before setting it on the counter and heading for the back porch. There was a swinging bench against the far end, and that's where Amy was curled up, legs tucked up underneath her. She had Kit in her arms and was stroking the cat absentmindedly as she gazed despondently at the ground.

Castiel's heart broke for her. For his entire family. Once again, their lives had been completely upended because of ignorance, prejudice, and arrogance. And Castiel couldn't protect them from it.

From the moment his little girl had been born, he'd wanted nothing more than to keep her safe, and loved, and happy.

But he couldn't do that. No father could. Not forever.

All he could do was be there.

Castiel walked over and sat down next to Amy. He didn't say anything, for he didn't have any words of encouragement or even wisdom in this situation. He simply put his arm around her and drew her against him, tucking her head under his chin.

If there was a way to fix this, he would find it. And if there wasn't…then he would stand in the fire with them.

* * *

Charlie pushed open the door to the diner, bells jingling above her head, and looked around. The place wasn't busy at this hour, post-lunch rush and way too early for dinner. Before a waitress could come seat her, a sort-of dashing looking man stood up from a booth halfway down the restaurant floor and waved to her.

Hiking her shoulder bag higher, she let out a breath and went over.

"Miss Bradbury, thank you for meeting with me," he said in an accent that probably would have made her swoon if he'd been a woman instead. He reached out to shake her hand, which Charlie took nervously.

"Um, I'm not a 'Miss' anything," she replied.

"Then what shall I call you?" he said genially.

"Queen of Moondoor?"

He faltered, eyes crinkling with a flummoxed look.

Charlie gave him a disarming smile. "Just Charlie is fine."

"Ah. Well, pleasure to meet you, Charlie. You can call me Mick." He gestured for her to take a seat.

Charlie slid into the booth across from him, eyes sweeping over the menu behind the napkin dispenser, but she didn't plan on ordering anything. "So, uh, how exactly did you get my number?" she asked.

"From some other American hunters," Mick replied. "You see, the people I work for back in London have decided to branch out and share our resources with your country so that we can do more good. Together."

"Uh-huh… And what kind of good are we talking about exactly?"

He folded his arms across the table primly. "Let me paint you a picture. Of a world without monsters, or demons, or any of those little buggers that go bump in the night. Of a world where no one has to die because of the supernatural. Of a new world, a better world."

Charlie lifted her brows. "Well. That sounds like a pretty shiny picture."

Mick smiled. "And we can make it happen. My organization has technology and resources you American hunters couldn't even dream of. Right now you're scattered, working like lone wolves. But coordinated, we can make a substantial difference. In fact, my team is currently putting together a plan that will systematically wipe out all vampires in the United States within eight months."

Charlie couldn't help but bark out a disbelieving squeak. "Seriously?"

Mick just gazed back at her, looking completely serious. "Yes."

She blinked, taken aback. "Oh."

Her mouth turned down as she pondered it. It sounded…not necessarily too good to be true, but…she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Yes, it was a noble and lofty goal, but it didn't really have the ring of a virtuous quest she thought should befit it.

Charlie drew her shoulders back. "Well, alright then."

Mick arched a brow. "Can we count on your support?"

She shrugged. "Sure. But how does it work?"

"We call you with cases, provide the weapons to make the hunts easier to deal with," he said, then paused for a beat. "And you keep your ears to the ground concerning certain interests of ours."

Charlie nodded along. "I think I can handle that."

Mick smiled. "Excellent."

Charlie regarded him carefully, her face breaking into a mischievous grin. "Can I see some of these toys now?"

Mick chuckled. "Of course." He stood up and held his arm out for her to go first.

Charlie slid out of the booth and headed for the door. Once outside, she waited for Mick to lead her around the back to where a silver Audi was parked on the other side of a large truck, giving them privacy. Charlie wasn't sure what kinds of 'weapons' these Brits had, but they probably didn't come with licenses to carry.

Mick pulled his key fob from his pocket and popped the trunk with a beep. Charlie angled her head over his shoulder curiously. It looked like any hunter's trunk in that it was lined with weapons, though definitely not of the same variety. There were no stakes, machetes, or shotguns here.

Charlie let out a nervous laugh. "Uh, no offense, but this looks more like you're ready to cosplay for a Star Trek convention." She held her hand up in the Vulcan salute.

Once again, Mick quirked an odd look at her before shaking it off. He reached into the trunk and pulled out what looked like a miniature canon gun.

"Our engineers have spent years blending sorcery and technology. For instance, decapitating vampires is inefficient for large nests. This, however, irradiates them, reorders their DNA. Their own blood becomes lethal to them."

Charlie's brows rose sharply. "Wow. I take it that's part of your plan to wipe out all vampires."

"Of course." He set it back in the trunk and reached for another device, this one a golden egg shape with strange symbols etched into the exterior.

"Okay, now that looks like something out of Harry Potter."

"Hyperbolic Pulse Generator. Exorcisms are unreliable. This device emits a force which drives the possessing demon from the vessel." Mick handed it to her. "Impressed?"

Charlie cradled the object in her hands. Now this felt like a relic for a wizard. "Very."

"Go ahead and take it," he said. "Just be sure to tell us how many demons you exorcise with it. For our records, of course."

"Right." Charlie turned it over and scratched at a lip in the bottom. A panel came slightly loose, exposing a section of the interior. "And the GPS tracker doesn't interfere with the device's functionality?"

Mick blinked. "I'm sorry?"

She held the egg up and turned around so that the tiny chip with the blinking red light was visible, tucked inside the little compartment.

Mick's mouth moved soundlessly. "Um, I'm sure that's just part of the engineering."

Charlie gave him a simpering look. "I thought you guys liked to do thorough research, so shouldn't you have learned that I'm kind of a computer nerd?"

"Miss Bradbury—"

"Charlie," she interrupted, and plucked the chip out. Glancing down, she let the tracker drop in the dirt, and then smashed it with the heel of her shoe. "And I'm going to take this."

Mick furrowed his brow. "You are?"

She smiled fiendishly. "I am. And you."

Now Mick looked utterly flabbergasted. "Excuse me?"

"Hey, ass clown," a new voice called.

Mick turned just in time for a 5'5" blond chick to shoot him with a taser gun. The prongs struck him square in the chest, and his entire body went rigid with micro seizures as volts surged through his muscles. Even his vocal cords were paralyzed as he dropped in a series of convulsions.

Jody and Donna stepped out from behind the truck.

Donna canted her head down at him. "He's kind of a scrawny fella, isn't he?"

"He gives the sales pitch," Charlie said. "And I can see why a bunch of hunters are buying into it."

"Yeah, well, now he's gonna listen to our sales pitch," Claire said, moving to stand over him menacingly. "The one that says get the hell out or deal with the consequences."

"Easy, tiger," Donna replied, stepping over the unconscious man to put one arm around the girl's shoulder and gave her a pat. "Why don't ya just help me get him in the truck?"

With a scowl, Claire crouched down and plucked the taser prongs from Mick's chest. Then she dug out a black hood from her pocket, which she yanked over his head. Lastly, she and Donna hefted him up and stuffed him in the back of her truck.

Jody turned to Charlie. "Nice work."

She grinned. Nothing could stand in the way of her true quest, the one she'd always had—protecting her family.

They climbed into their vehicles without anyone noticing the scuffle, and pulled onto the road, leaving Mick's car behind with all its fancy gadgets. They might have been fun to investigate, but Charlie didn't have time to comb them over for more trackers.

And what came next was more important.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Dean pushed the screen door open and stepped out onto the front porch as Donna's and Jody's trucks rumbled down the drive. Sam came out behind him, and together they descended the steps as the ladies parked and started hopping out of the vehicles. Claire and Donna headed around to the back of her truck, and a moment later were dragging out a figure with hands cuffed and a hood over his head. Dean hoped the bastard was enjoying the same treatment his people had given the Winchesters.

"Where do you want him?" Donna asked.

Dean and Sam exchanged a look.

"Cellar's good," Dean said, cocking his head toward the side of the house where an outer door led down to a basement.

Donna quirked her lips, and then she and Claire hauled their prisoner toward the house.

Dean turned to Charlie as she got out of Jody's truck and headed straight to giving him a hug. Maybe he squeezed a little tightly in that embrace.

"Thanks for coming to help," he said roughly, trying not to get too choked up with emotion.

Charlie leaned back and gave him a knowing look. "Wild horses."

He couldn't help but smile back.

She stepped aside to hug Sam next, though he practically swallowed her whole.

Jody came to stand next to Dean. "You ready for this?"

He nodded. Hell yes he was. No more sitting on the sidelines.

The rest of them started after Donna and Claire, entering the cellar just as those two finished tying their captive's wrists to the armrests of a rickety chair. His ankles were already secured to the legs. Once done, Donna yanked the hood off and stepped back.

Mick gave himself a sharp shake and squinted as his eyes adjusted to the light, dim though it was. He struggled against his bonds and craned his neck around, but stilled when his gaze landed on Dean and Sam. He looked flabbergasted at first, and then uncertain.

"What is it you hope to accomplish here?" he asked, rattling the handcuffs and trying to sound unfazed, but Dean saw the wobble in his Adam's apple.

Dean crossed his arms. "Well, Sam and I answered a bunch of your questions," he said darkly. "Now it's time for some reciprocation."

Mick flitted his gaze around at the others. "This will not go unnoticed," he warned. "The British Men of Letters have a code. If you hurt one of us, satisfaction must be had."

"Yeah," Jody spoke up. "Interesting thing about that—same goes for family."

Mick faltered, swallowing hard again as he attempted to draw his shoulders back. "I won't tell you anything."

"How many numbers does your operation have?" Sam asked.

Mick lifted his chin and stared stubbornly ahead.

"Didn't look like too many when we busted out of there," Dean commented. "I mean, we practically waltzed out."

"Our teams were out on a mission," Mick retorted. "We've gotten reinforcements since then."

Dean exchanged an amused look with his brother.

"It still can't be that many," Sam went on nonchalantly. "If you're having to recruit American hunters to do your leg work."

"We have plenty of operatives," Mick said, sounding miffed. "But one of our goals is to work with the Americans to make this country safe."

Sam smirked and shook his head. "You're really not good at this."

Mick's face reddened and he clamped his mouth shut as he looked away.

Dean came to stand in front of him. "Who are you to tell us how to do our job?"

Mick rolled his eyes. "You lads endanger the world every other week."

"And where have the British Men of Letters been in trying to make it better?"

"We _have_ made it better. There hasn't been a monster killing in London since—"

"Yeah," Dean interrupted. "That's great for London. What about the rest of the world? How about the Styne family? You heard of them, right? The chaos and destruction they caused? But you never did anything about it. Because they stayed away from your little corner of the world, so screw the rest of us?"

Mick's expression faltered and he glanced down.

"You know who did take out the Stynes?" Dean went on. "Ryn. And Sam and Charlie. And maybe the Darkness got unleashed as a result, but you know what? We took care of that, too. So in the end, two great evils were wiped off the face of the earth."

"We've made mistakes," Sam put in. "But we've always tried to fix it. And sometimes that made things worse, but we always took responsibility and kept fighting. Where were you?"

"Our people were trying to research a way to banish the Darkness when it was released—"

"Oh, research. Yeah, that's awesome. Did you actually come out to America, though? Or did you stay safe across the ocean and just wait to see if the Darkness would cross it?" Dean accused.

"We didn't _have_ anything useful to contribute—"

Sam let out a derisive snort. "Right. Well, we did. So don't you dare tell us my brother and I have only hurt people. We've saved more lives than the British Men of Letters ever have."

Donna stepped forward. "Let me bottom line it for you, bucko. We've heard the sales pitch, and we ain't interested. So you can take your offer and hop on back to London. Or we will make you."

Mick scoffed as he gazed around at their group. "No offense, but you _are_ outnumbered."

"Numbers do not win a battle," Charlie spoke up airily.

"Quick history lesson," Claire added. "The American Revolution. We kicked your asses."

Mick let out an exasperated sound and tugged against the cuffs. "Why can't you see that we're trying to _help_? Trying to make the world a safer place, free of all monsters."

"The problem is not every being that isn't human is a monster," Sam argued.

"Nothing can deny its nature forever."

"There are werewolves and vampires who only eat animals," Dean countered, voice ramping up. "The Alpha phoenix was saved by God himself and blessed with divine fire. And her kid, who's also half angel, is the kindest, most innocent person you will ever meet. Who, also coincidentally, is God's granddaughter. And you do not want to piss the Big Guy off enough for him to come down here."

Okay, that was technically an empty threat. Chuck didn't get involved until things were on the verge of annihilation, and Dean wasn't planning on letting it get that far. Besides, with Gabriel missing, who knew if Chuck would even get wind that they were in trouble.

Mick just gazed at him like he'd drunk the Kool-Aid. He then shifted his attention to the others beseechingly. "If you turn over the Alpha and the hybrid, perhaps we can argue for clemency. Show us that you're willing to work with us—"

Dean grabbed Mick by the front of his shirt, jostling him so hard the chair he was chained to almost tipped over.

Mick's eyes widened with fear, but he managed to swallow and ask calmly, "Is this where you threaten me with torture?"

Dean's blood was throbbing with the urge to, long forgotten tactics and skill sets awakening in the face of his family being in danger. He wanted to; he really wanted to. And it wasn't like he hadn't gone down this road before. Many times.

But then Dean thought of his niece, and remembered what he was fighting for. Remembered that he wasn't that person anymore.

So as much as he wanted to pay back all the atrocities that'd been committed against him, his brother, and his family, Dean forced himself to take a breath and let it out.

"No," he said, releasing Mick and taking a step back. "We're not like you."

With that, he nodded to the others to follow him upstairs, leaving Mick to sit alone in the dingy basement as the sun set.

Dean shut the door behind them and turned to face everyone. "It's time we take the fight to the Brits."

"You remember where their base is?" Jody asked.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I think we can retrace our escape. But we'll need more to go on if we're gonna do a full on assault."

"I'm in," Charlie immediately said.

Claire's mouth curved upward. "Me too."

Dean felt a swell of pride at their support. "Then let's make plans."

* * *

Amy could hear the adults talking long after dinner, though she hadn't been invited to join the discussion. And, strangely enough, she didn't feel the urge to.

She came down once to get some tea for her mom, and the conversation continued around her as though she wasn't even there. Even her dad was involved, though he was quiet throughout most of it, taking things in and giving input only when he had something to contribute.

Amy returned upstairs and helped her mom take a few sips of the tea before exhaustion pulled Ryn into sleep again. Amy had never seen her mother like this, and it scared her.

It made her angry.

She cocked her head toward the stairs, the low rumble of voices indicating everyone was still deep in discussion. Without really thinking about it, she stood up and carefully made her way downstairs again, keeping to the wall and skirting around the kitchen toward the back door. No one noticed. She eased the porch door open with only a slight creak and slipped outside.

The array of constellations adorning the night sky brought her no joy like they usually did. Tonight, they were cold and aloof, and for the first time, Amy felt small and insignificant under their distant gazes. The world had never seemed so harsh before, not even when she first learned there was evil out there, for her family had always taught her that there was strength in love and unity, and that they could always face whatever came their way.

This was the first time she doubted that.

Amy moved around the side of the house toward the outer door to the cellar. It was locked with a simple latch and chain that she easily undid. Being careful and quiet, she lifted one side of the door and descended the short steps into the darkened interior.

Her eyes didn't need much light to see by, and her vision quickly adjusted to take in the man chained to a chair. He wore a casual suit and had a scruffy appearance that in a movie some might call ruggedly handsome.

It took him a little longer to make her out as he squinted in the ambient light filtering down through the open door. For a long moment, Amy just stared at him, as though she could pierce the fabric of flesh and see down to the soul in order to understand. But she had never figured out how her dad did that, and couldn't seem to do it herself.

He started shifting in apparent discomfort. "What?" he blurted.

"Why do you hate me so much?"

She hadn't meant to ask that. Or maybe she had. She hadn't really had a plan when she'd decided to come down here and face one of the monsters that had been dogging her nightmares.

He quirked a confused brow at her. "I don't know what you mean."

"I've never done anything to you or anyone you know," Amy went on. "And as far as I know, neither have my parents. So why do you hate me?"

His eyes widened. "You're the hybrid."

Something churned in Amy's stomach at the way he said that. Maybe technically she was one, a mix of two lineages. A one of a kind. And maybe neither of those halves was human, but that didn't make her _less_ than them.

"Answer my question," she demanded.

He blinked in surprise. "It's not about hate," he finally answered. "You're dangerous and it's my job to protect humans."

Amy frowned. "From me."

"Yes."

She was silent for a moment, then said quietly, "I punched a boy once. He was bullying another human boy and I told him to stop."

He gave her an odd look, and Amy wasn't sure what her point was supposed to be.

"I was raised to stand up for people, to help them," she continued. "For as long as I can remember, I wanted to be a hunter, to protect people. And then my family taught me that not all monsters are evil. If they're not hurting anyone, they should be left alone." She paused. "But you don't believe that, do you? You think anything not human is evil. But if humans can be good or bad, why can't supernatural beings be the same?"

He didn't say anything to that.

Amy took a step closer. "Did the phoenix you held captive for years actually hurt anyone before you imprisoned him? And even if he did, was experimenting on him until he became a walking bomb really in the name of protecting humans?"

The man opened his mouth, but Amy barreled on.

"Do you know what became of him?" she pressed. "My mother had to kill him. Her own grandson. Because he'd gone insane from what you did to him. Elijah's _one_ goal after escaping you was to find the Colt, the one weapon that could kill him permanently and end his suffering. He didn't _want_ to hurt anyone else. All those people who died in the fires he set was because _you_ turned him into that."

She cut off to take a labored breath, her emotions starting to roil inside her.

The man didn't say anything to that, and instead averted his gaze.

Amy's shoulders heaved, and she slowly raised one hand. "I want to hate you for what you did to my mother." Blue fire wreathed in grace burst into her palm. "I want to make you hurt like you hurt my family."

The man's eyes were alight in the crackling azure aura, his expression blanched with fear. For a split moment, Amy enjoyed seeing that look on his face. For a brief second, she wanted to prove just how dangerous she could be.

But another part of her, a part that was bigger and resonant with the voices of those she loved, stayed her hand.

Amy extinguished the fireball, plunging them into darkness once more.

"But that's not how my parents raised me," she said.

She turned on her heel and swept out of the basement.

The night air felt cool against her heated skin, and she took a ragged breath to try to calm the fire in her blood. She didn't know why she'd gone down there. It hadn't accomplished anything, and she might have just given the British Men of Letters reason to fear her more.

Because that was what she finally saw, deep down behind the cold facade. It wasn't hate driving these people; it was fear.

She eased the door down and latched it shut. A shadow shifted against the side of the house, making her nearly jump out of her skin.

"Hey, buttercup," Donna said kindly.

Amy shot a nervous glance around to make sure no one else was there, then between Donna and the cellar door. "How long have you been out here?" she asked warily.

Donna gave her a compassionate smile and raised a hand, signaling she should come closer.

Amy approached cautiously, and Donna draped an arm over her shoulder. The older woman's thick brown jacket felt warm in the crisp night air.

"I saw you sneaking out," she said. "Thought I'd come check on ya."

Amy's cheeks flushed hot. "I wouldn't have hurt him," she rushed to say.

"Oh, I know that. And if he's got an ounce of brain cells, he would see that, too." Donna huffed, but quickly replaced it with another smile. "So, are you okay?"

Amy bit her lip. "I don't know," she confessed. "I wanted to confront him, look him in the eye…but it didn't make me feel better."

Donna nodded sympathetically as they slowly meandered back around the side of the house. "Yeah. But you know, sometimes facing the giants in your life isn't about feeling better. It's just something you have to do."

"Then what's the point?"

"Finding out they're not actually giants," Donna replied. "Or that you're bigger than you thought you were."

Amy contemplated that for a moment. The man in there had seemed…rather small. But the people he worked for with their weapons and technology…they were still a threat that seemed insurmountable.

Donna drew to a stop a few feet from the back porch and turned to face her. "Promise me one thing, kiddo." She reached up to take Amy by the shoulders. "There's a lot of bad in this world. A lot of cruelty. And as much as I want to tell you this is the only time you'll have to face it, that wouldn't be true. There will always be another face of evil. Sometimes evil-evil. Sometimes human. But no matter what happens, don't lose your capacity for kindness. Because it's not until you let them take that away from you that they truly win." Donna gave her arms a warm squeeze and smiled. "And you are so full of goodness."

Amy ducked her gaze, but let Donna's words sink in. She knew they were true. It was how her family had raised her, in a home surrounded by love and acceptance and laughter, no matter how dark the pasts of her parents and uncles may have been.

She lifted her head and nodded. "I promise."

Donna's smile widened, and she pulled Amy into a full hug. Amy let herself melt into the loving embrace.

With friends and relatives like all of them, how could she ever lose herself?

* * *

 **A/N: Only two more chapters!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: The chapter you've all been waiting for.**

* * *

Chapter 11

The kitchen was full as everyone milled about, finalizing their attack plans. Dean, Donna, and Claire were checking the weapons and loading up on ammunition, the cocking of shotguns loud in the background. Jody was on the phone with Alex, and Charlie was checking their route on her laptop after she'd narrowed down the base's location based on Sam and Dean's description of what they remembered of the old factory when they'd escaped. Plus, they'd had a little extra help on reconnaissance.

A floor plan of the compound lay spread across the table, courtesy of Crowley. He'd sent one of his demons to possess one of the British operatives in order to get the information.

Sam couldn't even bring himself to muster any distaste for the method.

Jody hung up her phone. "Alex and a few other hunters will meet us on the road outside the compound," she reported.

"How many does that make our number?" Cas asked.

She swept her gaze over everyone. "Six here, four more when we get there."

Cas's brow furrowed. "You didn't count me."

"'Cause you're staying here with Ryn and Amy," Dean put in, stuffing a loaded shotgun into his duffel.

Cas visibly bristled. "This is my fight too."

Dean turned to face him, expression serious. "Yeah, it is. And we're fighting _for_ you, Cas. For you, and Ryn, and Amy. For Garth, and Benny, and Lenore, and every person who's tried to live a decent life."

Cas gazed back at him tensely, looking ready to argue.

"Cas," Sam interjected. "Stay with your family. They need you. And let the rest of your family protect you for a change."

The angel's jaw worked, but he didn't say anything, just gave a clipped nod.

Dean picked up one of the duffel bags and slung it over his shoulder. "Good, let's get going. And so we're clear: it's us or them."

They all shared grim nods of agreement and gathered up the rest of their gear before heading out. Dean climbed into Jody's truck with Claire while Sam joined Charlie with Donna. As they pulled away from the lake house, Sam turned around toward where Cas and Amy were standing on the porch together, watching them leave. It was a somber procession, like they were heading off to war.

Which, they were.

Despite the gravity of their intentions and destination, Donna was as chipper as ever, talking animatedly with Charlie about LARPing. Sam mostly tried to stew in his own tempestuous thoughts in the backseat, but then Charlie started regaling Donna with the time the Winchesters actually participated in a LARPing skirmish, and at that point Sam's mortification overcame anything else he'd been feeling.

He wondered what was going on in the other car. Maybe arguments about old movies with Claire. Maybe Dean had convinced Jody to blare some rock music as they barreled their way to the big battle. Or maybe she had other music tastes. Driver picks the music and shotgun shuts his cakehole.

A few hours later, they finally arrived in Iowa and pulled off the highway to where Alex and three other hunters were waiting. Even though Jody had said a few had chosen to side with them, Sam was still surprised to see the support.

They all got out of their vehicles, gathering together in a large huddle to go over the plan one more time. Which wasn't much of a plan. They were basically going in guns blazing and mowing down anyone who tried to get in their way.

Sam pulled out the map of the compound and showed it to Alex and the other hunters, explaining which way the two teams would go once they breached the building. He gave them a few moments to familiarize themselves with the layout, since it was quite a maze. And then they took pictures of the floor plan with their phones to use once inside.

"Any questions?" Sam asked.

No one said anything.

Dean gave a resolute nod. "Then let's hit it."

They unpacked their weapons to have at the ready before climbing back into their vehicles and resuming the drive down the highway toward the old factory. When the perimeter gate came into view, Donna rammed the gas pedal, revving the engine with a roar. It was no Impala, but her truck was a stallion in its own right.

They crashed right through the flimsy gate in a mirror move to Sam's own driving the last time he'd been here. There'd been a hail of bullets trying to stop them from escaping; this time he and the others were armed and gunning for a fight.

Rapid fire peppered the air, and Sam caught sight of two guards going down before he'd even gotten out of the vehicle. He hopped out, shotgun braced against his shoulder as he swept his gaze around for more threats. But just like before, the exterior was only minimally guarded. These guys didn't expect a raid on their own base, just like they hadn't expected a jailbreak.

Their mistake.

Sam sprinted to one of the fallen guards and ripped his key card from his vest, which he then used to open the second security gate. The other guard was inside and shot dead. There was a palm scanner near the lock. Dean moved in to heft the guy's arm up and slap his hand on the scanner. There was a beep and click, and Sam yanked the door open.

Their group filed inside and immediately split up. Sam, Jody, Donna, Alex, and one of the other hunters—Wally, Sam thought his name was—went left while the others went right. They were going to systematically sweep the place, taking out anyone who tried to take them out first.

Which didn't take long.

As they rounded the second corner, gunfire erupted in the narrow corridor, and Sam jerked backward to find cover. Bullets ricocheted off the metal walls, making it difficult to lean out far enough to return fire. He ducked low and managed to get one shot off before the rain of bullets forced him back behind the wall again.

Jody angled her arm around the corner to shoot blindly while instinctively shielding Alex with her other. Maybe Wally thought that was enough cover, because he jumped out to shoot his handgun wildly. He almost emptied his magazine before his body jolted and he dropped like a sack. Sam flinched at the abruptness, the hunter's wide eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling.

There was a brief lull in the shooting, though, and maybe Wally had hit some of them in his foolish but brave stand.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Sam whipped around the corner with his shotgun and fired. First shot went down the center, just to buy time to take in positions. The second he aimed at the guard kneeling in the aisle, and with a cry, the guy went down. One was already sprawled on the floor. Sam heard retreating footsteps pounding down the corridor.

He leaped to his feet and charged down the hallway, the others following behind. The last guard turned to shoot at them again, but too late, and he went down before he could squeeze the trigger.

There was a wide opening in the section up ahead, and Sam led the way toward it. Sweeping around the edge of the wall, he instantly recognized the conference room where he and Dean had been interrogated. Toni Bevell was there, talking frantically on a landline.

Sam raised his shotgun and blew the phone's cradle to pieces.

Toni jumped back with a yelp, dropping the phone. She turned wide eyes on them as they surrounded her, but quickly schooled her expression. She rolled her neck. "So, the barbaric hunters have come for revenge. What a surprise."

Sam took a menacing step forward. "You're the one who tortured my brother. For _hours_. And you have the gall to say _we're_ barbaric?"

Toni lifted her chin haughtily. "You're bad for this world, Sam. You and your brother."

"Hey, watch it, Barbie," Donna snipped. "I wouldn't be here if it weren't for those two."

"Me neither," Alex spoke up.

Toni angled a disdainful look over them. "I didn't realize you had a harem, Sam. Do they know all the damage you've caused?"

"We know the good they've done," Donna retorted.

"At what price?" she countered.

"A lot cheaper than what you're selling," Alex answered.

Toni's lips curled upward in a sneer. "You think you're better than everyone. You think you get to decide what happens to people, which lives are worth saving."

Sam gritted his teeth against seething fury. "No, that's you."

"We will rid the world of monsters one day," Toni continued. "And if you choose to stand in our way, then you will be—"

A gunshot cracked the air and Toni's head jerked backward as a bullet ripped straight through it. Her body crumpled to the floor.

Sam whirled around to find Jody standing there calmly, the barrel of her gun oozing a tendril of smoke.

"Jodes!" Donna gasped in surprise.

Jody just gave them a bland look. "She hurt my boys."

Sam gaped for another moment before he overcame his stupor, and his expression eased as he exchanged a look of understanding with her.

Alex cleared her throat. "We should finish up here."

Sam nodded.

Yes, they should.

* * *

Dean and his group stormed through the compound, mowing down any guards who stupidly came running at them. Mick was right; they'd called in reinforcements, but none of these asshats were a match for the torrential fury raining down righteous retribution on their unsuspecting heads.

Halfway into their incursion, one of the other hunters took a bullet in the leg. Claire quickly shot the guard who'd fired, felling him and giving them a brief lull in the assault.

Dean gave the wounded hunter a quick once-over as the guy clutched tightly at his bleeding thigh. He wouldn't be able to continue like that.

"Get him out of here," Dean ordered the other hunter. He, Claire, and Charlie would go on ahead.

The other hunter passed Dean her backpack of explosives and then hefted the injured guy's arm over her shoulder. Dean and the others waited, providing cover, while those two hobbled back the way they'd come, and then they set off again.

The next turn brought them to an aisle of cells with glass doors. Dean hadn't realized it when they'd broken Ryn out, but there were occupants in some of the others further down the corridor. Non-human occupants.

Dean paused in front of one cell where a vampire was sitting in a corner, coughing up blood. Next door, a rugaru was curled in the fetal position and whimpering. Dried blood tracks left thin trails coming out of its ears. More of the British Men of Letters' science projects, Dean guessed. And while part of him felt that he shouldn't care about a bloodthirsty vampire or rabid rugaru, another part of him imagined Benny or Garth in those cells instead. And it didn't matter whether these were 'monsters.' It was one thing to kill vicious predators; it was another thing entirely to use them as lab rats. To keep them alive in abject misery and pain for experimentation.

And Dean was putting an end to it.

"Over here," Charlie called, drawing his attention away for a moment. She was standing down the hall and cocking her head toward a set of open doors.

Dean and Claire headed over and looked into what appeared to be a lab. There was equipment and machinery along the walls, and long metal tables lined with objects and devices from what looked like ray guns to artifacts.

"These are the weapons the British Men of Letters have been developing," Charlie said. She went over and picked up one of the weird guns with a wide barrel that looked more like a hair dryer than for shooting bullets. There was a file folder next to it, which she opened and scanned. Her brows rose sharply.

"Oh, wow. They're, um, developing a weapon to melt rugaru brains." She threw a quick glance over her shoulder back toward where the cells were, and Dean could easily see the tortured rugaru in his mind's eye. "They must still be testing it…" Charlie said.

Dean swept his gaze over the collection. There were dozens of objects in here, and for a brief moment he wondered if there was anything useful among them. But then he remembered how they were developed, and he decided it didn't matter.

"Destroy it all," he said.

"You sure?" Claire asked, not sounding reluctant, just checking.

He nodded, and unslung the backpack with the explosives from his shoulder. Charlie reached for a package and started setting it in the center of the lab.

Dean roved his gaze around the items, wondering if any of them were spelled to withstand an explosion, and paused when his eyes caught sight of a familiar barrel and wood handle. The Colt.

Okay, _that_ he was taking back.

Dean snatched it up and checked the chamber. The bullet was still in there. The Brits probably would have loved to know how to make more, but that was once piece of information he was fairly sure hadn't come up in his interrogation. He stuffed the gun in the back of his waistband and grabbed a piece of explosive, which he took out into the hall and affixed to the wall between the vampire's and rugaru's cells. A quick death was the only thing Dean could do for them.

He'd just finished setting it up for remote detonation when something hard and heavy slammed into the back of his shoulders, shoving him against the wall. He instinctively ducked and spun around, but not fast enough to avoid a punch to the jaw that snapped his head to the side. Another undercut into his stomach drove the oxygen from him with an 'oomph.' Dean twisted away and scrambled back several steps, trying to regain his balance. He looked up at Arthur Ketch, dressed in black combat gear this time instead of the suit.

Dean smirked and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Oh, this was perfect. "You're the one who shot Cas."

Ketch's eyes were like flint, though his tone was flippant. "Is that the angel? I take it the halo made its way back to you, then. I must admit I underestimated its mother bear capacity. A mistake I won't make next time."

Dean's expression darkened. "You're never getting near them again," he growled.

Ketch scoffed and spread his arms. "What are you hoping to accomplish here today? By attacking us you've only ensured your own destruction. The British Men of Letters will not tolerate this blatant act of war."

"You still don't get it, do you?"

Ketch arched a brow.

Dean drew the Colt and pointed it at him. "No one threatens my family."

"You're not going to shoot me with the Colt," he said dismissively. "That would be a waste of a very rare and powerful supernatural bullet."

Dean cocked his head toward the gun, then narrowed his gaze on Ketch. "No," he said. "This thing is meant to kill monsters." He squeezed the trigger.

The report cracked the air, and Ketch pitched backward as the bullet struck right between his eyes.

Claire and Charlie came running out of the lab down the hall, weapons raised. They faltered at the sight of Ketch's body on the floor.

"You finished?" Dean asked, tucking the Colt back in his waistband.

"Uh, yeah," Charlie said, and ducked back into the lab. She emerged a second later with the backpack and remote detonator in hand.

Since the lab was more or less at the center of the compound, they decided to start heading back, setting more charges as they went, just to be thorough. They met up with Sam and the others outside just as Jody and Donna were lifting the body of the third hunter into the back of one of their trucks. Alex was helping the injured hunter into her car and tying a tourniquet with her jacket.

Dean walked up to his brother. "We good?"

Sam's expression was grim, but he nodded. "We're good."

With that, they all climbed into their vehicles and started driving away. Dean turned in his seat as Charlie pushed the remote detonator, and he watched the compound behind them go up in an explosive mushroom of smoke and flames.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Castiel sat by Ryn's bed, where he spent most of his time, idly stroking his thumb in slow circles across the back of her hand while she slept. Amy was curled up on her mother's other side, Kit nestled between them. A somber silence had pervaded the house since the others had gone off to confront the British Men of Letters. Castiel didn't like staying behind; it was against his nature not to be out there fighting to protect his loved ones. But he would be lying if he said his heart wasn't also torn with the desire to stay and keep his family close. So he didn't begrudge the Winchesters for insisting he stay behind this time.

He still worried, though, and kept glancing at the clock, gauging when they should have arrived at the compound, how long it might take for them to infiltrate it, allowing for complications and setbacks… Castiel had half a mind to fly over there and see what was happening, but he restrained himself. He wouldn't leave Amy and Ryn unprotected. And they were still within the timeframe where the others could very well be on their way back, having completed their mission.

Castiel sighed. Yet before his mind could devolve into another cycle of imagining worst case scenarios, the sound of tires on gravel and the rumble of engines pricked his ears. He stood quickly, adrenaline spiking with both cautious relief and trepidation, and his hands tensed with readiness to summon his blade as he hastily made his way downstairs. He reached the front door just as four vehicles pulled to a stop in front of the house. There was Jody and Donna in their trucks, and Charlie and even Alex in their own cars.

Castiel strode toward them, whipping his gaze over each of them anxiously as they climbed out, but so far they were all walking and moving without problem. "Is everyone okay?" he asked urgently, eyes seeking out Claire when he didn't spot her, but she came around the back of Jody's vehicle at that moment, looking completely fine. Castiel did a mental count, finding them all accounted for.

Dean walked up to Castiel, expression sober with obvious release from the burdens that had been weighing him down. "Yeah," he said, and reached out to clasp his shoulder. "It's over."

Castiel felt some of his tension loosen. They were safe. They could go home.

"For now," Sam said grimly. "The London chapter might decide to send more."

"You think they'd be that stupid?" Claire asked.

Sam shrugged one shoulder helplessly.

"Then we'll deal with it," Dean said.

Castiel agreed with his tenacity, but a small part of him wondered if they had another fight in them, after everything they'd been through.

Jody cleared her throat. "We got one last loose end to tie up." She nodded toward the cellar where their prisoner was being kept. Castiel had almost forgotten about him.

"Let him go," Amy spoke up, stepping out of the house. These past several days had aged her with a solemn maturity that bespoke of new wisdom and understanding. Good things to have, but Castiel's heart ached with how his daughter had come to possess them.

Amy descended the steps and came forward. "Let him go back to London and tell his people to never come here again."

Castiel glanced at the Winchesters. Dean's jaw ticked with reluctance, but Sam looked thoughtful.

"Okay," Sam said after a moment.

He and Jody started toward the cellar, and Castiel decided to follow. The basement was rank with mildew and damp air, and the man called Mick Davies inhaled a large breath at the influx of fresh oxygen. He eyed the three of them warily, shifting uncomfortably in the wooden chair he was chained to.

"We're letting you go back to London," Sam informed him.

Mick just gazed at him dubiously.

"Your little American operation is over," he went on. "We blew up your base."

The man's eyes widened. "The others—"

"Toni Bevell and Ketch are dead," Sam cut him off. "Most of your squad is dead."

Mick sputtered soundlessly.

"But we're gonna let you go, so you can tell your _colleagues_ back in London to stay the hell out of our country. This is our home, and we'll defend it our way. And any supernatural being who wants to live a peaceful life minding their own business, well, they're welcome here too. We are the land of the free, after all."

Castiel watched with shrewd eyes as Sam moved forward and unlocked the cuffs around Mick's wrists and ankles. The man continued to regard them with mistrust as he slowly stood, rubbing his wrists.

Jody grabbed his arm and started guiding him toward the door. "I'll drive you to the airport."

They headed back outside where the others were still gathered, and several pairs of hostile eyes skewered Mick the moment he stepped into the sun. His gaze swept over them anxiously as Jody escorted him to her truck and around to the passenger side.

She opened the door and shoved him inside. "By the way, it was the kid's idea to let you go." Jody glanced at Amy long enough for Mick's gaze to follow before she slammed the door shut.

Castiel stepped up on her way back around the front of the vehicle. "Thank you," he said. He turned to the rest of them. "Thank all of you for what you did."

Jody gave him a heartwarming smile. "Any time."

Donna broke into a beaming grin and spread her arms. "Group hug."

Castiel quirked a look at her, but Charlie and Amy immediately swarmed into her wide embrace.

Claire rolled her eyes, but at a pointed smirk from Alex, those two joined in as well.

That hug certainly seemed big enough, but nevertheless, Jody moved in, and Castiel followed. Their arms weren't wide enough to reach all the way around this mass huddle, and Amy and Charlie were probably being squished in the center, but nobody complained.

Donna craned her neck and said sternly, "Come on, you two."

Castiel glanced to where Sam and Dean were standing, Sam with an amused expression and Dean shaking his head.

Donna started shuffling them all toward the boys, and they finally relented, Dean with a put-upon sigh, and wrapped their arms around the rest of them.

It was awkward and tight, but Castiel didn't mind. In that moment he was reminded that they did, in fact, have another fight left in them. Because they had friends like this standing beside them.

And together they could accomplish anything.

Dean finally broke away, his chick-flick moment rule being violated, and the rest of the hug dissolved, but there were several smiles brightening their motley group.

"Alright," Jody said. "I'm gonna make sure this guy gets on a plane." She cocked her head toward her truck.

"I'll go with you," Alex said, and tossed her car keys to Claire. "Don't ding it."

Claire scoffed indignantly. "I'm a great driver."

"You can't parallel park to save your life."

"Parking's overrated."

Alex huffed, but climbed into the backseat of Jody's truck. Castiel noticed she had a gun holster on her hip and that she slid over to sit right behind Mick. She may have been training to become a nurse, but she had good soldier instincts.

Charlie clapped her hands together and turned to the rest of them. "Well, what do you say we start packing up so you guys can go home?"

Dean and Sam shared relieved smiles.

"That sounds awesome."

Castiel agreed.

* * *

Castiel wove through the bunker library and down the hallway toward the dormitory wing, Ryn in his arms. After all they'd been through, they were finally home.

He reached their bedroom and nudged the door open with his foot. "I believe I'm about five years late carrying you over the threshold," he said, bringing her to the bed and easing her down.

Ryn's lips twitched. "Five thousand years for our first kiss. Five years for this. I'd say that's progress."

Castiel smiled down at her fondly. His heart swelled with joy to see her old spark returning. Her fever was finally gone, but she was still utterly spent from the ordeal. She would be okay, though, in time. They all would.

"Can I bring you anything?" he asked.

Ryn settled back against the pillows. "I'm okay. Let everyone get settled in, and then let me know what's for dinner."

Castiel quirked his mouth, and nodded. He grabbed a book from the desk, some Russian romance novel Ryn had been reading off and on for a while, and set it on the nightstand within reach in case she wasn't tired enough to sleep at the moment. She smiled, and he leaned down to give her a quick kiss before heading back out to help the others.

He passed Sam and Charlie in the corridor as they made their way toward the kitchen, Kit scampering ahead of them with demanding yowls for food. Castiel knew he didn't need to translate that one.

He entered the library just as Dean came in from the war room and deposited an armful of bags on the table. They had been living minimally at the safe house, so there wasn't a ton to unpack. But…

Castiel walked over. "First things first?" he asked.

Dean nodded, and together they made their way up the stairs to the landing in front of the door. Dean pulled out his key and held it out to Castiel.

"You can do this?" he asked a tad skeptically.

"Yes."

Castiel took the key and gripped it tightly in one hand, while he placed the other over the lock. Both began to glow as he summoned up his grace. Simmering heat wafted from his palms, heating the metal enough so that he could manipulate it. Castiel closed his eyes and concentrated on refashioning both the lock and key with different notches.

After a few moments, his grace receded and the metal cooled. Castiel handed Dean the new key.

Dean held it up and examined it, brows lifting in appreciation. "Awesome. I'll make copies."

He turned and headed for the garage where the tools were kept.

Amy came up the stairs and stopped next to Castiel, gazing at the lock. "Will this make us safe?" she asked.

"It's a precaution," he answered. "One I think will work." Castiel hesitated. "But we can never be one hundred percent safe," he added honestly.

Amy nodded silently as if she already knew that.

"But as long as we're here for each other, we'll be okay."

She finally looked up with a small smile, and Castiel put an arm around her shoulders. Together, they walked across the landing, pausing in front of the garage. Inside, Dean had veered away from the tool cabinet and was approaching the Impala.

"Hey, Baby," he said, reaching out to run a hand across her sleek frame. "We're home."

Castiel glanced at his daughter, and they shared another smile.

Yes, they were.

* * *

 **A/N: The end. ^_^ I have fic #4 for this verse brainstormed, but didn't get around to writing it yet as planned. It'll happen at some point. But in the meantime, next up is a fantasy AU crossover/blend featuring dragon!Castiel. Should be interesting. ;)**

 **Thanks so much to everyone who's been following this verse and reviewing! I'm really glad you enjoy it. :)**


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